


Family

by tolieawake



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alpha Slade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Family, Fluff, M/M, Oliver is a protective momma bear and if you threaten his kids he will cut you, Omega Oliver, Omegas are like protective mama bears, but the rest of the time its all fluff, happily ever after (it will be), warnings for some violence at times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolieawake/pseuds/tolieawake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years ago, Oliver Queen made Slade Wilson a promise - that if he ever got off the island, and Slade didn't - he would look after Slade's son, Joe.</p><p>Returned to Starling City, Oliver is determined to keep that promise. Even if it means having to be a responsible Omega.</p><p>(because I can't imagine Slade not asking that of Oliver, and then decided to throw a/b/o and a Slade/Oliver romance into the mix as well, just for fun)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_Starling City's Favourite Omega Alive!_

 

_Oliver Queen, known by many as Starling City's Favourite Omega, has been found alive on an island in the South China Sea. Queen was missing, presumed dead, 5 years ago following the accident at sea which claimed the_ Queen's Gambit. _A regular tabloid presence and fixture at the Starling City club scene, Queen was both condemned and idolised for his loose living as an Omega. Shortly before his disappearance, he was acquitted of assault charges stemming from a highly publicised drunken altercation with paparazzi. Queen is the son of billionaire Alpha Robert Queen, who was also onboard but now officially confirmed as deceased._

 

*

 

“So,” Tommy said, slipping into the driver's seat of his car. “Where to first?”

 

“Actually,” Oliver replied, “I was thinking of heading over to _Greens_.”

 

“Greens?” Glancing over his friend, Tommy frowned. “Why do you want to visit the family lawyers? You know that your mom's going to take care of everything, right?”

 

Oliver shrugged. “I've already been talking to them,” he said.

 

“About?”

 

“A promise I made to a friend.”

 

*

 

_Greens_ was situated in a tall building, all steel and glass and chrome, with plush leather seating and the occasional leafy green plant in a pot. Striding through the sliding glass doors, Oliver led the way past the front desk and over to the bank of elevators.

 

“And, we're just going to head on up?” Tommy asked.

 

Oliver grinned. “I spoke to Mr Green this morning,” he said.

 

“Yeah? Which one?”

 

“Harold Green.”

 

Tommy whistled. “The head honcho himself. What promise are you keeping that you need him involved?”

 

Without reply, Oliver stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. Shrugging, Tommy followed him.

 

*

 

“Mr Queen.” Harold Green's secretary seemed to make it a point to sit at about midrange – middle aged, neither too sexy, nor too demure, too outspoken, nor too timid. She was obviously expecting Oliver. “Mr Green is waiting for you.”

 

“Thank you, Marissa,” Oliver replied, allowing the woman to usher him towards the office.

 

Bemused, Tommy followed after his friend.

 

“Mr Queen,” Harold Green greeting, standing up from behind his desk and coming around to shake their hands. The eldest Mr Green – and the one who had started their law firm – had aged well. He had a small paunch, but the ease of movement and spark in his eyes that suggested his was not a life of idle pleasure. His hair was thinning, yet not gone, and what there was of it was a uniform steel grey. Deep lines had carved their way into his face, his bright eyes accentuated by the pair of thick-rimmed glasses he wore.

 

“Mr Green,” Oliver replied.

 

“Please, call me Harold.”

 

“Then you must call me Oliver.”

 

So much for Oliver needing time to adjust, Tommy thought, even as he took the proffered seat.

 

“Allow me to introduce Tommy Merlyn,” Oliver continued. “He's my chauffeur for the day.”

 

“Just today?” Tommy asked.

 

“Maybe a little longer,” Oliver admitted. Then his gaze shifted, focusing, becoming suddenly sharp and attentive. As though, now that the pleasantries were out of the way, he could stop pretending and simply go after what he wanted.

 

Mr Green seemed to catch the look as he also took on a more serious cast, clearing his throat as he picked up some papers from his desk.

 

“As discussed this morning,” he said, “there are a number of papers which we will need to file in order to continue the custody suit. We've been able to pass a number of preliminary checks, however, with your past, and the lack of physical evidence as to the deceased's wishes, there are a number of other hoops we will need to jump through.” He placed the papers down on the mahogany coffee table in front of Oliver.

 

Flicking through them, eyes darting over the text, Oliver nodded. “Time-frame?” he asked.

 

“We're pushing things through as fast as we can. However, it's unlikely that a decision will be reached before the end of the month.”

 

Oliver frowned.

 

“I can understand your desire to get things moving quickly,” Mr Green added. “But please, remember that you've only been back with civilisation for a week. These things take time.”

 

Sighing, Oliver pushed the signed papers towards the older man as he leant back in his seat, one hand coming up to try and run through his now cropped-short hair.

 

“Just – do what you can,” he said. “The quicker we can get Joe here, the better.”

 

*

 

“Okay,” Tommy said, as they stood in the elevator, headed back down to the ground floor. “What was that all about?”

 

“A promise.”

 

“To a friend, yeah, you said. What promise?”

 

Frowning, Oliver stared at the wall of the elevator, but Tommy couldn't help but think that his gaze was much further away.

 

“I wasn't alone on the island,” he said eventually. “Not all the time. One of the men I met there – I made him a promise. That if I ever made it back, and he didn't, I'd look after his son.”

 

Tommy blinked. Then he laughed. “You're going to look after a kid?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You are kidding, right?”

 

The Oliver that turned to Tommy then was one he hadn't seen before. Serious ness settled across Oliver's face in a way Tommy hadn't known it could. A determination that made his gaze steely. It wasn't a typical Omega look – and yet it brought to mind, immediately, the old adage about Omegas –  _to threaten an Omega's young is to court death_ .

 

“The island changed me,” Oliver said, voice dropping as they exited the elevator and headed towards the doors outside. “Five years ago, I wouldn't have thought I could ever look after a kid, but now – I owe him too much to even think about not doing everything I can to protect Joe.”

 

“And bringing him here is protecting him?”

 

“He doesn't have anyone else.”

 

*

 

“What do you think of this one?” Oliver's voice drifted down the hallway.

 

“Hey,” Thea said, poking her head around the corner into the kitchen. Oliver was sitting at the island bench, smiling over at Raisa, with a laptop open between them and a pile of what appeared to be decorating magazines.

 

“Hey,” Oliver replied, turning his smile on her. “I want you to meet someone.” Stepping into the room, Thea approached.

 

Twisting the laptop, Oliver gestured to its screen. Confused by her brother's actions (but really, that was just a normal state of affairs for her since he'd been back), Thea looked down to see Skype open. The image on the screen was of an office somewhere – the paint was old and peeling in the corners, the desk scuffed, but well cared for. Sunlight splashed into the room through the window, washing it all in a haze of gold. A young boy sat at the desk. He was wearing a t-shirt and a grin, head tilted to one side. A scarf wrapped around his throat, oddly incongruous with his t-shirt, the sunlight and the lazy ceiling fan spinning overhead. His hair was dark, as were his eyes, his skin hovering a few shades past white, without quite being brown.

 

“This is Joe,” Oliver said, motioning towards the boy. “Joe, this is Thea, my sister.”

 

“Hi,” Thea said, giving a little wave. Joe waved back in reply. She turned to Oliver. “I didn't know you knew any kids.”

 

Oliver shrugged. “Just Joe,” he replied.

 

C onfused, but happy to be speaking to her brother and seeing him doing something other than pretend to be happy while hurting on the inside, or pretend to be just who he was before leaving on that fateful trip so long ago, while obviously so different now, Thea pulled out a stool and sat herself down.

 

“So,” she said, “what are you talking about?”

 

“Decorating,” Oliver replied, lifting up one of the magazines to where it was open on a two-page bedroom spread. “Trying to decide what Joe would like his bedroom to look like.”

 

“And you didn't invite me?” Throwing one hand up against her chest in mock outrage, Thea winked at Joe. “Ollie, you know I've the best fashion sense out of this family!”

 

Oliver laughed – light and genuine, which made Thea look quizzically at Joe once more. If this kid could make Oliver actually smile, really smile, and laugh...

 

“We don't need fashion,” Oliver said. “Just something that Joe will like.”

 

“Please,” Thea replied, “everyone likes my mad decorating skills.” She turned to Joe. “What do you think? Can I help look?”

 

His dark eyes seemed to consider her for a moment, before he nodded, making a gesture with his hands.

 

“Sure thing, buddy,” Oliver replied, his own hands, Thea realised, also moving. He turned to Thea. “Joe wanted me to tell you that you can help – he thinks he's safe considering how pretty your clothing is.”

 

Thea preened. “Thank you, Joe,” she said.

 

“You're welcome,” Oliver replied for Joe, obviously interpreting the young boy's actions. He turned back to Joe, gesturing as he spoke. “You just remember to correct me if I get anything wrong, okay Joe?”

 

The bright grin that crossed the kid's face would stay with Thea for a long time.

 

She also wondered when and where Ollie first started to learn sign language – enough so that he could carry on a conversation with another person in it.

 

*

 

“Mom.”

 

Turning, Moira smiled at her son. It was still such a joy to simply see him again, alive. “Oliver,” she replied, stepping over to him, hands automatically coming up to rest on his shoulders. For a moment, just a moment, Oliver leant into her grasp.

 

“I wanted to thank you for letting me change the room around, I -”

 

“Nonsense,” Moira replied, waving one hand through the air. “It's not like we were using it. I admit, I was a bit surprised by some of your decorating choices, but...” she gave a small shrug.

 

“It's not for me.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“It's for Joe, right?” Thea asked, entering the room.

 

“Joe? Who's Joe?” Moira looked between her two children.

 

“Joe,” Thea replied, “makes Ollie smile. And laugh.” She grinned at her brother, who rolled his eyes.

 

“Joe,” he said, “is the son of a friend. I'll be looking after him.”

 

“Oh,” Moira said, blinking. “Well. That's rather nice of you, Oliver. I do hope your friend is properly grateful when he returns.”

 

Oliver opened his mouth to correct his mother, but her phone rang and she was called away.

 

“Oh boy,” Thea said, patting his chest, “good luck on letting Mom know Joe isn't just a house guest for a little while.”

 

*

 

“What do you mean, Joe's missing?” Oliver demanded, leaning forward, hands flat against the desk.

 

Frowning, Harold Green leant back in his chair. “Exactly what I said, Mr Queen,” he replied. “Joe Wilson went missing from the children's home he was staying in. A backpack full of his things also appears to have been taken.”

 

Oliver spun on his heel, pacing across the room and back.

 

“It doesn't make any sense,” he said. “Joe was exited about coming here, to live with me.”

 

Harold sighed. “I'm sorry, Oliver,” he said, “but this has all the markings of a child running away.”

 

“No,” Oliver said, frowning out the window and down at the city his eyes were seeing past. “No. Joe wouldn't have run. Something else has happened.” He glanced over at Harold. “How are we with the paperwork?”

 

“If nothing goes wrong, it should be filed by the end of the day.” Harold held up one hand. “I have to caution you, however, that an obvious sign of distrust, such as running away, could hinder our case.”

 

“Make it happen,” Oliver replied. “Whatever it takes – make it happen. I want full custody of Joe by the end of the day.” He turned, striding towards the door.

 

“Where are you going?” Harold asked.

 

“Australia.”

 

 


	2. Finding Joe

The heat hit Oliver as soon as he stepped out of the plane. Breathing deep, he drew the hot air into his lungs, before expelling it out once more. Looking around, he was struck by the brilliant blue of the sky, the far-off horizon, and the glare of the sun against the tarmac.

 

Still, much as he wanted to pause and take in the country he had never visited before, he had somewhere he needed to be.

 

Slipping his sunglasses on, Oliver turned and strode forward purposefully.

 

*

 

“Mr Queen.” The woman who greeted him smiled, but there was strain around her eyes.

 

“Ms Darling,” Oliver replied, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice.” He flashed his smile at her – the one he had practiced as a teenager and then carried with him into his adult life. The smile that had females melting all over him. Playboy Oliver.

 

Ms Darling blushed, reaching one hand up to tuck mousy brown hair behind her ear. “It's no problem,” she said. “To be honest, we're all quite in awe of the interest you've taken in young Joe and your obvious desire to help him out.” She frowned. “I just can't understand why he ran away.”

 

“Neither can I,” Oliver replied. “Which is why I'm here.”

 

*

 

Joe's room was small, old, but well looked-after. The walls were a greyish beige, the carpet a scuffed brown. A small bed sat against the wall beneath the window, a desk opposite. Letting his gaze sweep over the room, Oliver quickly took it in.

 

Stepping over to the bed, he lifted the pillow, and then the mattress, frowning when he noticed the letters Joe had told him about missing from their hiding place.

 

If someone had taken Joe, they shouldn't have known about the letters. Yet, Oliver couldn't help but think that Joe wouldn't have simply run away either. The boy had been far too excited by the idea of coming to Starling City for that.

 

Lifting the pillow to his face, he drew the scent in deeply, flaring his nostrils and pulling slow and deep through his nose as Slade had taught him.

 

Closing his eyes, the better to focus on the scent, Oliver let it imprint against his mind. Not just as _Joe's_ , but as _family_. He could detect the faint tang of sand and spice that had weaved through Slade's own scent, marking Joe as his son. _Omega_ , his nose told him, along with the subtle waft of something leafy that made his senses clear – eucalyptus.

 

Joe's scent firmly pressed into his brain and instinct, Oliver let the pillow fall back to the bed. He gave the room a cursory sweep, finding nothing of importance.

 

But that was no matter. He had what he had come for – Joe's scent.

 

*

 

“Are you sure about this?” Ms Darling asked, eyes filling with concern as she glanced between Oliver, the backpack slung over his shoulder, and the bright sunlight-filled afternoon outside.

 

“I'll be fine,” Oliver replied with a smile.

 

“They're sending a Tracker out,” she continued, “there's no need for you-”

 

“I'll be fine,” Oliver repeated, reaching out to rest his hands on her shoulders in reassurance. “I've done some Tracking before.” Slade had been the one to teach him – how to use his senses, particularly his nose, in a way he'd never thought to use it before. Honing his sense of smell in order to increase his knowledge of his surroundings, and in order to Track. To find and trace others by scent alone.

 

As an Omega, Oliver had a stronger sense of smell than the other two dynamics, something Slade had made him work on until he had it under his control and was making full use of it.

 

“The Australian bush is hardly similar to anything you would have experienced before,” Ms Darling continued. “It really would be best to wait for the Tracker to come.”

 

“Joe's out there,” Oliver replied. “And the longer we wait, the less scent there will be to follow.” He slipped the backpack onto his other shoulder, settling it comfortably against his back. “I'll be back when I can – with Joe.”

 

Biting her lip, Ms Darling watched him leave.

 

*

 

Standing on the footpath outside the Children's Home, Oliver closed his eyes, drawing his breath deeply into his lungs. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he began to filter the smells out. Mentally peeling each one back. The light tang of salt. The harsh sting of pollen. The earthy brick of the Home. Until all he had left were the scents of people.

 

Those, too, he peeled back, until, faint beneath the myriad others, he could smell Joe. A few days old, and leading down the street.

 

Nodding, Oliver turned and began to walk around the home, leaving the scent-trail behind him. Joe had been living at the Home, so any scents leading from the front door may have been left as part of his usual comings and goings.

 

On each side of the building Oliver continued his process, slowly and painstakingly. The way Slade had taught him.

 

It was beneath Joe's window that he caught Joe's scent again. Mixed with another. One Oliver hadn't smelt before but felt as though he should know. Similar to Joe's, and twining around the young boy's easily. The trail led away from the home and down an alley. Shifting the pack on his back, Oliver followed it.

 

*

 

The sun was glowering on the edge of the horizon when Oliver paused. Through the houses, down back streets and out onto the edges of town the scent trail had led, before striking out across open fields and into the edges of the Bush.

 

Gum trees rose stark against the orange-gold sky, scrub dotted about the ground between them. Before Oliver, the bush stretched out into the distance, where the ground climbed up to but against a large outcropping of rock.

 

Following the trail, Oliver pressed on.

 

*

 

“Thea?” Moira asked, stepping into her daughter's room. “Have you seen Oliver?”

 

Glancing up, Thea frowned. “He went to Australia,” she said.

 

“Please, Thea, if you don't know, all you have to do is say so. There's no reason to go making up -”

 

“No, really, he went to Australia.” Pushing herself up from her bed where she'd been working on her homework, Thea walked over to her mother. “He said something came up unexpectedly and then took one of the Jets and headed off.”

 

Moira's brow creased in confusion and concern. “He just left?” she asked.

 

Thea nodded. “Yeah. Said he shouldn't be long, and he'd bring Joe back with him.”

 

“Joe? Why do I keep hearing about this Joe? Whose son is he?”

 

Thea hesitated. “Maybe that's something you should be asking Ollie,” she said.

 

“Well I would, if he was actually here to ask.” Shaking her head, Moira left the room.

 

“I hope you know what you're doing, big bro,” Thea muttered, turning back to her homework.

 

*

 

Evening had set in, grey twilight bringing with it the numerous denizens of the Australian Bush – although keeping a wary distance from the man disturbing their homes. Still, Oliver pressed on.

 

The further he went, the stronger the scent trail grew, joined now by a third scent that mixed easily with the other two.

 

Up ahead, he could see the rock outcropping, now much closer, and suspected that that was where the trail would lead him.

 

*

 

Stepping up to the outcropping, Oliver reached his hand out, letting it rest against the rock. The stone was cool, the heat of the day having left it with the disappearance of the sun and the chill of the night.

 

A few bats glided almost noiselessly overhead, and further away he could see the gleam of eyes as a kangaroo moved through the trees.

 

Breathing deep and slow, Oliver drew the scents over his tongue. Sand. Spice. Eucalyptus. Wattle. Rainwater. Jacaranda.

 

He moved forward, careful to place his feet in such a way as to be nearly silent, slipping forward through a crack in the rocks. The wind was blowing behind him, tugging gently at his clothing.

 

The crack opened up into a sandy, open area. The stars shone overhead, lighting it. To one side, some sleeping bags and blankets had been laid out. A small firepit dug in the middle.

 

As soon as Oliver stepped out from the crack, he felt it.

 

A small knife, pressed up against his side.

 

“Twitch,” a rough voice hissed, “and you're dead.”

 

Despite himself, Oliver couldn't help but smile.

 

There was a flurry of motion from over by the sleeping bags and Joe rose up, racing towards Oliver. The young man at Oliver's side made a disgruntled sound, before stepping back as Joe launched himself at Oliver.

 

Bending his knees and holding his arms out, Oliver let Joe leap into them, lifting him up and burying his face in the young boy's neck, where he drew in his scent deeply.

 

“Joe,” he said.

 

Small arms tightened around him in response.

 

Turning his head, Oliver glanced over to the teenager, perhaps 13, by his side. “You know,” he said, nodding to the knife held in the boy's hand. “That's the first thing your father ever said to me.”

 

The teens lips twitched, before he smoothed them out into a thin line.

 

“I'm Oliver,” Oliver continued.

 

Turning, the teenager stalked over to the sleeping bags, dropping down onto one. “You're the guy who wants to adopt my brother,” he said.

 

“I am,” Oliver replied. “Although, I admit I didn't realise Joe had a brother.” Shifting Joe so that he was more comfortably placed in his arms, Oliver walked over to the sleeping bags, taking a seat as well.

 

“I'm surprised you managed to get this far,” the teen said, a sort of grudging respect in his eyes as he looked at Oliver before flicking his gaze around their makeshift camp.

 

Oliver shrugged. “Your dad taught me to Track,” he replied. “Where's the third one of you?”

 

The youth stiffened immediately, gaze going hard and wary. His fingers moved against the handle of his knife. Joe leant backwards, looking up at Oliver.

 

Shrugging, Oliver smiled briefly at Joe before turning his attention to Joe's brother. “I could smell three scents that I followed here,” he said. “That means there's three of you.”

 

“Guess you are good at Tracking, then,” the teenager replied. He scowled, before nodding over to the side of the camp. Turning, Oliver watched as a young girl, perhaps seven years old, approached them.

 

Joe bounced on Oliver's lap, fingers flashing as he formed words quickly. Oliver laughed softly, smiling over at the girl.

  
“Pleased to meet you, Rose,” he said. “And you, Grant,” he added, glancing back at the teenager. “Now,” he said, shifting Joe so that he could give Rose and Grant his attention as well. “Why don't you tell me what's going on?”

 

Grant scowled, but began to talk.


	3. Grant Explains

“Why should I trust you?” Grant asked, brows furrowed as he glared at Oliver. Slipping over to her brother, Rose sank down beside him, leaning against Grant's side.

 

“Because I want what's best for you,” Oliver said, “and Joe, and Rose. And because I Bonded to your father.”

 

Grant's eyebrows rose and he glanced Oliver over, leaning in as he did so to take a sniff. Tilting his head obligingly to the side, Oliver let Grant draw in his scent. While his overall scent was the same as it had always been, it had a faint undertone which he had gained when Slade Marked him, Bonding them together.

 

That undertone was strongest by his neck and shoulder, where the Mark was. The old myths said that when an Alpha bit an Omega, they left part of themself behind, which is where the scent came from. Science said something about chemical reactions and bonding agents and – well, to be honest, Oliver really hadn't paid that much attention to any of his classes at school.

 

The fact was, ever since he had been Marked, Oliver had carried a faint undertone of sand and spice. Not something that was readily apparent if someone wasn't looking for it – particularly someone who already knew his scent, such as his mother and Thea, and so smelled what they expected to smell.

 

“Huh,” Grant said. “That explains your interest in Joe.”

 

“It does,” Oliver agreed. “I also made your father a promise.”

 

Grant slanted him a look. Shrugging, Oliver pulled his backpack off his shoulders and rested it down beside him.

 

“I promised that, if anything happened and he didn't make it back, but I did, I would look after Joe.” Grinning, Oliver ruffled the younger boy's hair. “So, when I got back, I tracked him down and got in contact with him,” he said.

 

Joe leant into Oliver, hands flashing through the night. Oliver laughed.

 

“I like you, too, Joe,” he said. “And I'd look after you now, promise or no.”

 

Grant rolled his eyes. “Omega instincts,” he scoffed.

 

“So?” Oliver asked.

 

Grant opened his mouth to reply, glanced at Joe, and shut it. He shook his head. “Still doesn't mean we should trust you,” he said.

 

“So let me prove it to you,” Oliver said. Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a sleeping bag, eyes sweeping over where Rose leant against Grant, eyes half-closed. “It's late. Why don't we get some sleep and then, in the morning, we can talk about what we're going to do?”

 

Grant frowned, a stubborn look crossing his face, even as he looked resigned. “Not like I can stop you,” he said.

 

“If you want,” Oliver offered, “I can sleep other there.” He gestured to the other side of the fire. Immediately, Joe grasped his arm, shaking his head wildly.

 

Grant scoffed. “Please,” he said, “somehow you've managed to make Joe attached to you. I'll never get any peace if I send you away.” His eyes remained wary, belying the underlying distrust the teen still held.

 

Nodding, Oliver gave Joe a hug before shifting him off his lap so that he could shake out the sleeping bag. Turning, Oliver laid it out with the others, before moving them around, fluffing and pushing, situating them just right.

 

Grant snorted.

 

Inwardly, Oliver rolled his eyes at himself. _Nesting_. He was _nesting._

 

“Come on, then,” he said, motioning for Joe to slip into one of the sleeping bags. The young boy hurried to do so, wriggling inside and then peering up at Oliver. Reaching out without thought, Oliver ruffled Joe's hair once more. He glanced over to Rose, but Grant was already helping her into another sleeping bag.

 

“Don't think this means I trust you,” Grant snapped, even as he pulled a third bag over himself.

 

Giving a soft smile, Oliver lay himself down beneath his own bag, his body between the children and the rest of their small camp, the rock at their backs.  Bag unzipped so that he could leap up at any moment, hard ground beneath him, Oliver breathed out.

 

It almost felt like home.

 

*

 

Waking with the sun, Oliver blinked his eyes open, taking in his surroundings as Slade had taught him. Joe was pressed up against his back, the boy's face pressed against the back of his neck. Even in sleep, Oliver could tell that Joe was scenting him. As a fellow Omega, he knew that his scent would be calming to Joe – just as his mother's scent had been calming to Oliver as a child. An Omega's scent was calming to any child under their care, but especially so for Omega children.

 

Shifitng slowly so as not to wake Joe, Oliver sat up. Rose was cuddled between her two brothers, Grant's arms wrapped around her. The young teen held the girl as though afraid that she would be taken away from him at any moment – and as though he had been the only one to protect her for far too long.

 

Rising, Oliver slipped out through the crack in the rock to deal with his morning business before returning to scrounge up some breakfast. He had brought trail mix with him, as well as water, some tea and some bread. A quick look around showed a pile of cans hidden in a deep groove running along and under the edge of one of the rocks. During the day it would be out of direct sunlight, keeping them somewhat cool.

 

Fishing out a can of beans, Oliver set to work preparing breakfast for them all.

 

*

 

Grant woke to the smell of cooking beans and toast. Sitting up abruptly, he glanced wildly around, before relaxing. Rose was still asleep in his arms, and Joe lay next to her, shifting the way he did before waking up.

 

Laying Rose back down, Grant turned his attention to the Omega who had found them the night before. To be honest, Grant was surprised that they had been found so quickly – and surprised that it had been the Omega to find them.

 

There had been a slight possibility of a Tracker being sent after them – if there weren't any more pressing cases the few Trackers would be needed for. But he hadn't expected it to be the rich playboy Omega who wanted to adopt his brother.

 

An Omega who was currently cooking them breakfast.

 

Once he'd found out about someone wanting to adopt Joe, Grant had tried to find out as much about him as he could. What he'd found hadn't been promising – a playboy who cared little for the traditional role of Omegas, partied hard, and cared little for others. Then again, he'd also read about Oliver's supposed death and then return. Anything written about him after his return had been sparse. Nothing that would truly tell him how Oliver had been changed by his experiences.

 

Considering the fact that the Omega was there, with them, and his Bonding to their father, Grant guessed that he hadn't been alone on that island. And that at least one of those with him had been their father.

 

Stirring, Joe sat up, smiling brilliantly up at Grant and giving him a hug, sweeping a hand over Rose's hair in awe, before bounding up and over to Oliver.

 

The Omega moved quickly, scooping Joe up before he got too near the fire, and hugging him close. As he watched, Grant saw Oliver dip his head down into Joe's neck, scenting him.

 

Frowning, he still wasn't sure just what to think, Grant gently shook Rose's shoulder to wake her. From the smell of it, breakfast was ready.

 

*

 

Leaning back, breakfast eaten, Oliver considered Grant.

 

“So,” he said, “you want to tell me why you took Joe and ran?” he asked.

 

Grant froze for a moment, before shrugging. “I spent years trying to find him,” he replied. “You think after all that I'd just let some stranger take him away from me? To another country?”

 

“No, I suppose not,” Oliver agreed. He ran one hand through Joe's hair as he spoke. Rose, pressed up against Grant's side, had been slowly warming to Oliver and watched him avidly. “You could have spoken to me first, though.”

 

Grant snorted. “I don't know you, mate,” he said.

 

“Not yet,” Oliver agreed. He frowned. “But why, if you're brothers, didn't they tell me about you? Ms Darling didn't make any mention of either of you. If I'd known, I would have applied to adopt you all.” He nodded to include Rose in his statement. A soft smile spread over her face.

 

“They didn't know,” Grant replied. “Everyone thinks I'm dead.” His mouth snapped shut as though he felt he'd said too much.

 

Tilting his head to the side, Oliver considered the teen. “You want to look after Joe and Rose,” he said.

 

Grant nodded.

 

“So do I,” Oliver continued. “And I want to help you look after them. To provide for you, as well.”

 

Grant's mouth thinned into a firm line.

 

“I'm your father's Bonded,” Oliver said. “The more I know, the better I can help you.” He shrugged. “You might decide not to trust me, but how about we start by you telling me what's going on, why everyone thinks you're dead, and then we take it from there?”

 

Chewing on his lip, Grant stared at the dying embers of the fire, before nodding jerkily. He still wasn't entirely sure he trusted Oliver, but it was an extremely rare Omega who would do anything to hurt the children of their Bonded.

 

“A number of years ago,” he said, “when Joe was just a toddler, he got hurt.” He nodded to where a scarf wrapped around Joe's throat. “A terrorist took him, wanted Dad to give him something or tell him something,” he shrugged, “I dunno. But, Dad wouldn't do it. Instead, he tracked him down and rescued Joe. But the terrorist, he tried to kill Joe. Dad saved Joe's life, but he still got hurt.”

 

Reaching up, Joe tugged down his scarf enough for Oliver to see the line running across his throat.  
  


“The bastard cut his vocal cords,” Grant continued. “It's why Joe can't speak.” He paused, hands rubbing together. “Our mother was not impressed. She blamed Dad. Thought he should have given in or done more, or something.” Grant shook his head. “She began to think of Joe as damaged and couldn't stand to be around Dad.

 

“I dunno why exactly she did what she did, but one day not too long after, I was headed home from school when this car pulled up beside me. I tried to fight them off, but there were too many.” He shrugged. “They dragged me into the car and stuck a blindfold on me.

 

“I was worried, but knew it wouldn't take long for Dad to realise I was missing. He'd been overprotective moreso even than usual ever since what happened to Joe. So I sat tight and waited.

 

“They took me somewhere – I dunno where exactly, some warehouse or something. Then I heard fighting. Somone came over to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet. Mum – I could tell by her scent.

 

“She dragged me across the floor. I still couldn't see. But I could hear and smell Dad.

 

“Then something exploded. There was fire and heat and smoke everywhere. I think I got knocked out. When I came to, I was lying on a bed in a Motel a few towns over. Mum was there, patting my hair and telling me what a good boy I'd been.

 

“I didn't understand why we were there or what was going on. I thought maybe whoever had taken me was still after me and that's why we'd had to run. My head hurt, so I didn't ask much, just trusted Mum would look after me.” Grant's lips curled, a bitter smile resting on his face.

 

“We stayed there that night, before moving on the next day. And the next. And the next. I thought maybe we were going to meet up with Dad and Joe somewhere – but we didn't. So one evening I asked Mum where they were. What was happening.” Grant glanced down, fists clenching. “She said that we would never have to worry about them again. That we were now _safe_ ,” he spat out the word. “She said that she'd made it look like we both died in an explosion, that way Dad wouldn't know to come looking for us.

 

“I argued with her, said that he was Dad and Alpha and we should be with him and Joe, but she wouldn't hear any of it. She got mad, yelling that I had to think of my younger brother or sister. That we had to protect them.

 

“I didn't understand what she was talking about. The only younger brother I had was Joe and I didn't have any younger sisters. Then she put her hand on her abdomen and explained – she was pregrant. With Rose.”

 

Swallowing, Grant scuffed the toe of his shoe in the sand.  Oliver's Omega scent had been growing throughout his story, a natural reaction to the pain Grant spoke of, an attempt to help sooth him. If it hadn't been for the undertone of sand and spice, Grant didn't think it would have affected him that much, but the obvious signs of Oliver's Bond to his father had his instincts screaming at him to trust the man. To give in and let someone else help out for a change.

 

“I wanted to find Dad and Joe and let them know I was alive,” Grant continued. “But I was only five and didn't know how I would do so. Plus,” he shrugged, “she was my Mum, and I didn't want to leave her either. She kept moving us around for a while, before settling down far up in the Top End. She used to say that Dad would never find us there.

 

“Rose was born, and started to grow up. But, despite being away from Dad, Mum never seemed to be able to let go of him. She would go off on rants about Dad and how she'd saved Rose and I. Then she'd get paranoid, afraid that Dad was going to turn up and snatch us away. After a while, she started talking about punishing Dad, thinking up ways to hurt him.

 

“And then she started seeing him in us – she'd go off about the fact that I had Dad's eyes. Even spoke of getting rid of them so that there was no part of Dad left to hurt us. She'd get mad that Rose had Dad's chin and nose and ears. Any little thing could set her off.

 

“I missed Dad and Joe terribly, and wanted them to know I was alive – and about Rose. I'd tried sending letters a few times, but Mum always seemed to know what I was doing and rip them up. The one time I'd managed to get a letter past her, it came back, returned to sender.

 

“Mum was starting to scare me more and more, and I realised that I would need to do something. I was ten, and Rose was four, so I figured we were old enough to make it on our own.” Grant flashed a rueful smile at Oliver. “So I packed us up one night and snuck us out of the house.” He shrugged. “For the next three years, I looked after Rose, and searched for Dad and Joe.

 

“I stayed away from the cops, as I figured, what with me supposedly being dead and all, I might not be believed if I said I was Dad's son. Plus, Mum was always really good at getting people to believe her and I was afraid we'd just end up back with her.

 

“I managed to eventually get Rose and I back down to our old house, but Dad and Joe had moved. I found out Dad'd moved them after what happened – or what he thought happened – to me and Mum. I tried to find their new house. When I finally did, I found out that Dad had been called away on another mission – it was meant to be his last before he retired to look after Joe, only he'd never come back.” Grant glanced down. Reaching over, Oliver placed his hand on the young Alpha's shoulder.

 

“Joe had been staying with Grandpa Wilson,” Grant explained, “but Grandpa was old and he passed away a few years after Dad left. Once more I was left searching – this time for Joe. 

 

“He'd been moved around a bit, but eventually I found him – at the Children's Home. Only to find out that someone wanted to adopt him and take him away – to another country. I couldn't let that happen, so I snuck in and got Joe out, bringing him out here to meet Rose, where it was safe.”

 

Finished speaking, Grant glared up at Oliver defiantly. Oliver, one arm wrapped tightly around Joe, the other hand on Grant's shoulder, just gave the teenager's shoulder a squeeze.

 

“You're amazing,” he said.

  
Grant blinked, staring up at him. Grinning, Oliver slowly moved his arm to draw Grant in closer to himself. Despite holding himself stiffly, Grant allowed the movement.

 

“I am so proud of you,” Oliver said, “for the way you've looked after your sister, and everything you've done to protect your brother.”

 

“You're not mad at me?”

 

“Why would I be mad?”

 

“Because I basically kidnapped Rose and ran away from our Mum. Because I took Joe when you were going to adopt him.”

 

Oliver shook his head. “From what you've told me,” he said, “running away was the best option that you felt you  had at the time – and sometimes all we can do is our best.  The way you managed to keep the both of you safe, and look for your brother, is amazing.  You're an incredibly brave young man, and I'm honoured to have met you. ”

 

G rant ducked his head, looking down at the ground. Drawing him even closer, Oliver smiled over at Rose. 

 

“You've been very brave, too,” he said. Rose grinned back at him, clambering over Grant to climb into Oliver's lap. She turned, pressing her face against the hollow of his throat and the strong scent coming from him there.

 

“I like you,” she said.

 

Oliver laughed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if there are any readers of this who are familiar with the characters of Grant, Rose and Joe from the comics, please let me know anything you think I should know about them. My knowledge is limited to what I've been able to find out online as I admit I've never read the comics.   
> My next task is to assign Grant and Rose's appearance. I know in the comics Grant has blonde hair and Green eyes - his hair from his father (as Slade is blonde in the comics) and eyes from his mother. Rose has blue eyes (Slade's) and white hair.   
> I've already said in this chapter that Grant has Slade's eyes - I did this as if Rose has white hair that suggests she is albino or close, and would likely not have Slade's dark eyes.  
> If I keep Adeline the same as in the comics she has brown hair, so the three kids should all have dark hair as well, but I kinda like the idea of Oliver looking after kids where some of them have blonde hair and could pass for his (in which case I would likely make Adeline blonde in this)  
> Anyway, if you have any thoughts, let me know what you think.)


	4. Rose asks

“I think we should go back,” Oliver said, looking around at the three children ( _his_ three children, his instinct s insisted).

 

Grant frowned. “How d'you know they won't just take us away? Split us up?” he asked.

 

“I don't. I can't – not for sure,” Oliver admitted. “But I do have a lot of money, and with that money comes a host of lawyers – who I will set to organising to have you adopted.”

 

“You want to adopt us?”

 

“Of course.” Turning to look straight into Grant's eyes, Oliver smiled gently at him. “I know I don't know you very well,” he said, “and you don't really know me. But you're Slade's kids. And I didn't just Bond him because it made things easier.”

 

Grant snorted. “Like Bonding Dad could have made anything easier,” he said.

 

“Right,” Oliver agreed. “I know the courts don't always recognise a Bonded as automatically a parent, but as far as I'm concerned, Bonding your dad makes you all as good as mine. Adopting you just means getting it all down on paper for the legalities.”

 

“And then what?” Grant asked. “You'll adopt us and we'll go back with you? To America?”

 

Oliver shrugged. “I'd like that, yes,” he said.

 

“What if we don't want to?” Grant asked. “What if we want to stay here?”

 

“Then we stay here.”

 

Grant froze at Oliver's words, staring across at him, brow furrowed as he tried to determine if Oliver was serious. Oliver met his gaze evenly.

 

“You mean it,” Grant said.

 

“Yes.”

 

Grant shook his head. “But – your life. It's in America. Why would you stay here? Haven't you got friends and family who'd miss you?”

 

“I do,” Oliver agreed. “And I have things I want to do in Starling City. But you three are the most important right now. So if that means we stay here for now, then that's what we'll do.”

 

Joe fidget ed , hands flashing as he turned to Grant.

 

Grant scowled. “I know,” he told his brother. “But just 'cos we don't really have any other family left, or  friends, do es n't mean we should go to another country.”

 

Joe pouted, hands moving.

 

Grant turned to look at Oliver. “You've made him a room?” he asked.

 

*

 

Shifting his backpack on his shoulders, Oliver turned to watch Grant slip out of the crack in the rocks. He'd managed to get Grant's cooperation – for now. Hand holding tightly onto Rose's, Grant approached.

 

“Okay then,” he said, “lead the way.”

 

Nodding, fingers twined with Joe's where the younger boy was swinging his arm, Oliver turned and began to lead them back through bush.

 

“You're pretty good at this,” Grant commented after a few minutes.

 

Oliver shrugged. “Had to learn,” he replied. “Your dad certainly seemed to enjoy trying to whip me into shape.”

 

Grant laughed. “And yet you still Bonded him?”

 

“Well, he kinda grew on me.”

 

*

 

It was just after midday by the time they reached the edges of town once more. The sun was high overhead, beating down on them. Oliver could feel the sweat trickling down his back between his shoulder-blades.

 

A slight haze rose above the roads in the distance and the sky was a blue so clear you could cut yourself on it.

 

Stopping the kids under the shade of a tree, Oliver pulled out his phone.

 

*

 

“Joe!” Ms Darling cried as the younger boy climbed out of the taxi out the front of the Children's Home. She hurried towards them, wide eyes turning towards Oliver. “You found him!”

 

With a soft smile and a nod, Oliver stepped back to let Ms Darling scoop Joe up into a hug before she  released him to hold him at arms length and  look over him.

 

“You gave us such a scare,” she told the boy. Her eyes lifted, turning to Grant and Rose, who stood awkwardly behind Oliver. “And you are?” she asked.

 

G rant's eyes flickered, darting to Oliver and then away. Rose clung to his hand, pressing herself against her brother's side.

 

“This is Grant, and Rose,” Oliver explained.

 

Ms Darling blinked, looking between them. Her gaze narrowed in on Grant's eyes – the same as Joe's. “You're related,” she said, glancing down at Joe.

 

Joe nodded.

 

“He's our brother,” Grant said.

 

“Oh. Oh, well I guess we should take this inside and explain everything,” Ms Darling said. “And I better call the Cops and tell them not to bother sending a Tracker down – they're no longer needed.”

 

Smiling, she ushered them all inside.

 

*

 

“And you want to adopt all three of them?” Ms Darling asked, a small frown on her face as she considered Oliver.

 

Beside him, Oliver could feel Grant tense up at the question. Rose's grip on his hand tightened. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

 

Ms Darling's eyes flicked to the kids and then back to Oliver. “I don't mean to  dissuade you,” she said, “but have you fully considered the implications, the responsibility involved? Adopting one child is one thing. Three – another totally. Besides, I'm not sure exactly how we would go about this. From what you've told me – Grant has a Death Certificate somewhere, and Rose's  B irth  C ertificate doesn't list her father.”

 

“I'm sure,” Oliver said. He pulled out his phone. “And leave the how to me.”

 

R unning one hand over Joe's hair, Oliver hit speed dial on his phone, bringing it to his ear.

 

“Oliver!” Moira's voice gasped out. “What are you – do you have any idea what time it is?”

 

“Not entirely,” he replied. “It's sometime in the afternoon here.”

 

“Late,” his mother stated with a bit of bite. “And Australia? What on earth are you thinking?”

 

“Mom -”

 

“Don't you Mom me, Oliver Jonas Queen! We just got you back! And you go flying off halfway across the world? Did you even think -”

 

“I need the name of our lawyers in Australia.”

 

There was a pause. Around Oliver, those who could only hear his side of the conversation appeared both curious and confused.

 

Moira sighed. “What have you done?” she asked.

 

“Done?” Oliver asked with a frown.

 

“Yes, what trouble are you in now? At least before the island you managed to not always need a lawyer to get you out of it.”

  
“I'm not in any trouble. But I do need our lawyer ' s name.”

 

There was silence for a moment. “ Brown and Taylors,” Moira said. “I'll send you through their information.” Another pause. “Shall we expect you home anytime soon? Or will we be waiting another five years?” Her tone was harsh, clipped. Oliver could easily imagine the pinched look on her face.

 

“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “I'll let you know about returning once I know. Goodnight.” Hanging up, he turned to look at the others. “Well,” he said, “that's one thing sorted.”

 

*

 

“You say that you Bonded to the children's father,” Mr Taylor said, looking over his glasses at Oliver.

 

“Yes,” Oliver agreed.

 

Mr Taylor nodded. “That does hold a lot of weight,” he said. “Added to the fact that you have already been awarded custody of Joseph Wilson, and this may not be as difficult as originally assumed.” He paused. “You will, of course, have to prove your Bonding.”

 

“Of course,” Oliver agreed.

 

“And then there is the matter of the biological mother. Which is where it may get tricky.”

 

“Surely the wishes of the children involved should be considered?” Oliver asked. “Grant and Rose ran away from their biological mother – three years ago.”

 

“Yes, that does help your case,” Taylor agreed. “And so far I have been unable to find any indication that she listed the children as missing. Which also helps you. However, sometimes there are those who would rather children go to their biological parents.”

 

Oliver frowned. “Is there anything else we can do to make this go our way?” he asked.

 

“Let's start by getting your Bond on the record – I'm assuming, based on your past, that it wasn't recorded originally?”

 

*

 

Shifting his henley to the side and pulling it down over his shoulder so that the Bite – resting on his shoulder just where it began to curve up into his neck – was clearly visible, Oliver shifted on the examination table.

 

“It will be easier if you remove your shirt,” the doctor said, approaching him.

 

Oliver just gave the man a look.

 

“Right, then,” he said. Pulling out on some gloves, the Doctor reached out for Oliver's neck. Automatically, Oliver shied away. Pausing, the Doctor looked at him. “I need to palpate your scent glands,” he explained, motioning towards Oliver's neck where the glands rested, “in order to be able to gather a viable scent sample.”

 

“I can do it,” Oliver replied. Reaching up, he pressed his left hand against the right side of his neck. Resting just above his Bite, Oliver pressed his hand against the gland on his neck, kneading the skin there.

 

Slowly, his scent began to fill the room, the undertones of sand and spice stronger than usual.

 

Nodding, the Doctor grabbed a swab, reaching forward to rub it over Oliver's neck as he moved his hand away. Oliver stiffened, but allowed the Doctor to take the sample.

 

“Right,” the Doctor said, sealing the sample into a bag. “Now for your Bonded's scent.”

 

Oliver frowned. “That's not possible,” he said. “You'll have to compare with the children's scents.”

 

Confused, but nodding, the Doctor looked around for them. “And they are?” he asked.

 

Standing, Oliver walked over to the door, opening it and poking his head out to look where Ms Darling sat with the three children. Joe was motioning excitedly to her, the woman smiling and nodding as she followed along with his story.

 

“Hey,” Oliver called. Grant, sitting stiff and wary, tensed as his head shot up before relaxing marginally as he saw Oliver. “The Doctor needs to take some samples of your scents,” Oliver said.

 

Joe looked over at him, hands flashing.

 

“Because then they can test the scents and see that we share a common scent – from your father,” Oliver explained. “That proves that I Bonded to him, and that Rose is also his child. Which makes it much more likely that they'll let me adopt you all.”

 

Nodding, Grant pushed himself to his feet. “Can't be that hard, right?” he asked.

 

Smiling, and shaking his head, Oliver motioned for Grant to enter the room.

 

*

 

“Are you going to be our new Dad?” Rose asked sleepily, staring up at Oliver from between half-closed eyes. From where he was tucking Joe into bed, Grant froze.

 

“I hope so,” Oliver replied, reaching out to smooth his hand over Rose's hair. “I'm doing my best to make sure that that happens.”

 

“And then we'll go to live with you?” Rose asked, “in America?”

 

“Maybe,” Oliver said, glancing over at Grant. “That depends on where you want to live.”

 

“Joe said you have a Castle.”

 

Oliver smiled. “It's not really a castle,” he said. “But it is big. And I guess it kinda does look a bit like a castle.”

 

Joe shifted, hands lifting out from under his covers to motion. _Tell us about it?_

 

“Well,” Oliver said, sitting himself down on the floor between the two beds (a couple of small cots had been crammed into Joe's room at the Children's Home for Grant and Rose) and leaning back against the wall. “It's an old house – which has been in the Queen family for generations.” He shrugged. “My mother could probably tell you all about it, but to be honest, I never paid all that much attention when she was telling me about it. To me it was just home.

 

“When you first enter the house...”

 

Slowly, listening to Oliver speak, Rose and Joe dropped off to sleep.

 

“Come on, then,” Oliver said quietly, looking over at Grant. “Time for you to sleep, too. We've got a big day tomorrow.”

 

Nodding, Grant slipped into his cot, eyes lingering on his siblings.

 

Pushing himself to his feet, Oliver leant over to brush a kiss on Rose's forehead, before moving over to Joe, brushing his hair back and kissing his forehead as well. He paused by Grant, before reaching out to smooth his hand over Grant's hair briefly as he headed for the door. “It'll be all right,” he said.

 

“How do you know?” Grant asked.

 

Pausing in the doorway, Oliver glanced back at him. “Because I'll do whatever it takes to make it right,” he said.

 

Grant stared at him for a long moment, before nodding and closing his eyes. Smiling softly, Oliver stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.


	5. Oliver wins

In the end, Oliver got his way. It didn't happen immediately, there was plenty of money paid out to the lawyers, and the kid's got antsy (Grant wanted to run again), but Oliver got his way.

Between fielding increasingly annoyed (covering fear) calls from his mother, telling numerous bedtime stories to Joe and Rose (and Grant, though Grant pretended he was just listening in case the other two asked him questions later), talking Grant down from taking off again with the others, and getting the lawyers to rush the case as much as possible without damaging their case, Oliver was feeling somewhat exhausted. But relieved.

Stepping out of the courtroom, Joe's and Rose's hands clasped tightly in his, Grant hovering at Rose's other side, Oliver couldn't have stopped the smile from spreading over his face if he tried. They were his. Legally, the kids were his.

Ms. Darling took one look at his face before bursting into her own grin.

“I knew it!” she declared. “I just knew it!” Hurrying over, she gave Joe a hug, before ruffling Rose's hair and smiling at Grant. 

Looking over at Oliver, Grant gave a slow nod. Oliver nodded back. He'd kept his promise. It was going to be all right.

*

“Does this mean we get to call you Dad, now?” Rose asked sleepily, as Oliver tucked her into bed. It was their last night at the Home, Oliver being allowed to take them with him the next day, which also meant they needed to decide where they were going to live.

“If you want,” he said, smoothing her hair back. Rose leant eagily into the touch. “You don't have to,” he added, “if you'd rather, you can just call me Ollie.”

“Ollie,” Rose murmured. “I like it.” There was a pause. “Lily used to call her Omega Father 'Ome',” she said. 

Oliver nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “I know a lot of people who call their Omega father that.”

“Maybe we could call you that?” she asked.

“If you want,” Oliver agreed, swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat. Joe shifted, arms lifting as his fingers danced. Oliver smiled over at him, before glancing at Grant. “It's entirely up to you,” he said.

Nodding, gaze serious, Grant slipped into bed.

“Besides,” Oliver said, “there's something else I want you to think about – where are we going to live?” He quickly hushed Rose when she opened her mouth immediately to reply. “Just think about it,” he said, “we'll talk about it tomorrow.”

*

The morning dawned bright and clear, and Oliver was there, before breakfast, ready to collect the kids. They hadn't much to take with them – Grant and Rose having been living on the run, and Joe having only a few things from his time at the Home – and most of what they had were things Oliver had bought them while they waited for the custody hearing to go through.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Sure,” Grant said. “Let's get out of here.”

They stopped by Oliver's hotel room to dump their things, before heading down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. Joe gestured wildly as they lined up at the buffet, instructing Oliver on what he wanted to eat.

Grant watched them, even as he kept a tight hold on Rose.

Smiling, Oliver ruffled Joe's hair, before nudging him forward. “Are you sure you're going to be able to eat all that?”

Grant snorted. “Joey's a growing boy,” he teased, eyes glinting. Watching him, Oliver felt a pang. That look in Grant's eyes being so like the one Slade would get in his eyes when teasing Oliver. Pushing the pain away, Oliver focused once more on the children.

They quickly collected their breakfasts before claimed a table over by one of the windows. 

Once they had eaten, Oliver pushed his plate away and looked at them. “Okay,” he said. “I guess it's time to think about where we're going to live.”

Rose and Joe shared a glance, before turning to look at Grant. Shifting under Oliver's gaze, Grant cleared his throat, before squaring his shoulders.

“We talked about it,” he said. “We'd like to go back to America, with you.”

Oliver blinked, leaning back in his chair. “Are you sure?” he asked. “It's a big move.”

Grant nodded. “Joe and Rose want to live in a castle,” he said with a shrug. Oliver suppressed a smile in order to consider Grant seriously.

“And you?” he asked.

“I just want them to be safe.”

“Okay. But we go on a trial basis – three months. Then, if you all hate it, we'll move back here. Deal?”

“Deal,” Grant agreed.

Reaching out, Oliver shook his hand, before shaking both Joe's and Rose's as well. Rose giggled, slipping from her seat to climb up into Oliver's lap, her nose seeking his calming scent. Joe shifted to press up against Oliver's side. Grant rolled his eyes, but smiled softly.

Silently, unknown to the small family, a photo was taken.

*

“Yes, Mom,” Oliver said, shifting the phone to his other hand so he could continue tossing his few shirts back into his case, in between pointing at Joe and the toys on the floor as a reminder to pick them up. “We're heading back today.” He paused, listening for a moment, before sighing. “I already told you I had to take care of some things,” he said, “we can talk more when I get back.” Dropping the phone to press it against his shoulder, Oliver cleared his throat loudly.

Immediately, Rose and Joe froze where they were fighting over how to pack Joe's toys. Oliver raised one eyebrow, before turning back to his conversation.

“Everything's fine,” he said, “so stop worrying. I'll be home soon.”

“Ollie!” a new voice screamed down the line.

“Thea.” Pushing his case closed, Oliver turned to look at how the kids were going. 

“So?”

He grinned. “Joe and I will be home soon,” he said. “But not alone. Can you ask Raisa to open two more bedrooms next to Joe's?”

“Two more?” The curiosity was clear in Thea's voice.

“Yeah.” Oliver agreed, that warm happy feeling he'd had ever since being awarded custody bubbling up. “Two more.”

*

They were at the airport when Oliver's phone rang with an unknown number. Frowning, he glanced over at Grant, silently telling him to keep an eye on the younger two, before answering the call.

“Queen.”

“Hey. Hi. Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I've going about this entirely the wrong way. I mean, I know you and you know me, but you don't know that it's me, and I'm babbling again, which really isn't helping things at all right now, and please don't hang up.”

Oliver blinked. “Felicity?” he asked.

“Yes!” she sounded surprised for a moment, before laughing softly. “It was the babbling that gave it away, right?”

“Right,” he agreed. “Was there a reason you called?”

“Right. Yes. Absolutely.” He heard her pause, taking a deep breath. “So, ever since you decided to drop by and see me a couple of times, I've kinda, been keeping track of you – socially. I mean, online. That is, I've been watching social media and news sites for any mention of you.”

“O-kay,” Oliver drew the word out, not sure where this was going.

“Sometime in the last few hours, someone took a photo of you with some kids. They've linked that to the fact that you've been gone for a bit, and there are all kinds of rumours floating around about illicite love affairs and what not.”

Oliver felt his blood freeze. “Felicity,” he said, “can you take it down?”

“Already done. I figured you wouldn't want it out there. However, the news is out – so completely remove the story, no, I can't. But I have removed all copies of the picture that were floating around on the web. So, they know you're coming back with kids – you are coming back with them right? - just not what they look like.”

Breathing out, Oliver leant against the nearest wall for support. The sudden rush of fear then relief then adrenalin, pushing him to do something, left him almost dizzy. His instincts had latched onto the kids weeks ago, considering them his, and rebelled against any threat against them.

“Thank you,” Oliver said.

“No problem. And honestly, I'd rather be doing this then trying to fix laptops you've spilt coffee on.” There was a teasing note to her voice that made Oliver smile.

“Right,” he agreed. “Can you -”

“Keep an eye on things and squash anything that starts up? Already on it. In fact, I may just have to change my job title to 'Oliver Queen's personal IT girl'.” There was a pause. “Sorry, that sounded less weird in my head.”

“How bad is it?”

“You can probably expect to see paparazzi when you return,” she admitted. “Although I've been spamming various discussion boards with false information on when and where you're landing. It would help if I actually knew when and where you were actually landing so I can steer people away.”

Laughing, Oliver gave her that information. “And talk to Dig,” he said, “he can coordinate security and make sure things are all right.”

“Got it.”

“And Felicity, thanks again. I owe you one.”

He could practically hear her shrug through the phone. “Hey, no kids deserve to go through a media storm like that – and especially not those ones, they look adorable.”

Oliver grinned, glancing over to where Grant sat, looking the teenage opposite of adorable – sullen and moody and ready to hit someone.

Hanging up on Felicity, with a promise that she would do her best to keep people away and would be available if he wanted to call and check things out once they touched down in Starling City, Oliver headed back over to the kids.

His phone rang again. Looking down, he grimaced, before cancelling the call. He didn't really want to be chewed out by his mother yet again.

“Okay,” Oliver said, sitting down by the kids. “Something I didn't think to ask you about.”

Grant's gaze shot immediately over to him.

“I'm slightly well-known in Starling City. My – our – whole family is.”

Grant snorted. “Yeah,” he said, “I know. I did research you.” Oliver grimaced, knowing what the young teen would have been likely to find. Grant just smirked in reply.

“Well,” Oliver continued, “part of that is that sometimes the media are interested in what I do.” He sighed. “That,” he indicated his phone, “was a friend letting me know that someone took a photo of us this morning. And now everyone back home is trying to guess why I was hanging out with you guys. Which means they'll want to take photos of you and interview you. They'll probably yell questions at you if they can.”

Grant frowned.

“So, you should know, before we leave – in case this makes you want to stay here instead.”

Rose frowned. “But, you'll look after us, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” Oliver replied immediately. “I will do everything I can to protect you and keep the media away from you.”

She smiled, nodding, “Then I still want to go.”

“Me too,” Joe gestured.

Grant shrugged. “Like you said, if we hate it, we can come back right?”

“Right,” Oliver agreed.

 

*

They landed to no fanfare. Felicity had been as good as her word, 'leaking' that Oliver and the kids would be arriving on the other side of the city in order to try and avoid the crowds at the main airport. Diggle was waiting for them, and had coordinated security, so they were able to pass through the airport quickly and quietly, before slipping into a car and heading towards the mansion.

The kids were tired and grumpy after the long flight, but perked up immediately upon seeing the Queen mansion sprawled out before them.

Rose gaped. “It really is a castle!” she gasped.

Joe's hands barely stopped moving.

Grant just grunted, fixing a wary look on his face.

Stepping out of the car, Oliver helped Rose out before turning at the cry of his name.

“Ollie!” Thea cried, rushing out the front door to greet him. She threw her arms around him, squeezing tight, before stepping back and smiling down at Joe. “Hey Joe,” she wiggled her fingers at him. Then she turned to Rose and Grant. “And these must be the other two.” She shot Oliver a questioning look.

“Thea,” Oliver said, “I'd like you to meet Joe's brother and sister – Grant and Rose. Guys, this is my sister, Thea.”

Grinning, Thea gave Rose a slightly longer look. “I know the perfect dress for you!” she declared.

Joe's fingers flashed, assuring Rose that Thea had helped to decorate his room.

“Speaking of,” Oliver said, turning back to Thea. “Was Raisa able to open up two more rooms?”

“Yep,” Thea agreed. “right next to Joe's.”

Grant shot Oliver a grateful look.

“Well,” he said, “let's head inside then.”

Moira was waiting for them.

“Oliver,” she said, eyes roving over him, taking a step forward, her arms coming up as though she wanted to hold him tight before she stopped herself.

“Hey, Mom,” he said.

Her gaze moved to the children.

“Fancy my surprise,” she said, “when I hear on the news that Starling City's favourite Omega has settled down – and is now parent to three children!” She paused. “I take it these are all your friend's children? We'll have to release a statement to the press about that. When is your friend returning for them?”

“Mom,” Oliver said, stepping forward and placing his hand on her shoulder. He swallowed. “He's not. They're mine now.”

Moira frowned.

Leaning forward, Oliver pressed his nose against his mother's neck, drawing in her scent, before tilting his head to the side, giving her access to his neck. Frowning in confusion, Moira leant forward, taking in her son's scent fully.

She froze. Then quickly drew in his scent again, before stepping back, eyes wide.

“Oliver!” she said.

Oliver nodded.

Thea's gaze darted between them. “What?” she asked.

Grant shrugged. “Oliver Bonded to our father,” he said.


	6. Thea Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is shorter than usual, but, considering how long it's been since an update, I wanted to get it out.

“Ollie _Bonded!?_ ” Thea demanded. Her eyes widened, and she didn't seem to know where to look. At Oliver, her mother, or the kids. “Ollie's a father,” she murmured. Then, “I'm an Aunt!” Clapping her hands together, Thea practically bounced on the spot. “Oh, this is going to be so great!” she declared. Coming to a stop, she frowned at Oliver. “But,” she added, stepping right into his personal space, “you, are going to get better at _talking_ to me! These are the kinds of things that I need to know!”

 

“Thea -”

 

“No, don't you 'Thea' me. What's his name?”

 

There was a shift in the children, each one shuffling closer to each other, and to Oliver. “Slade,” he replied, swallowing hard. “His name was Slade Wilson.”

 

“Was?” Thea's voice dropped into sympathy.

 

Oliver nodded.

 

“What happened?”

 

“He saved my life,” Oliver replied.

 

“Ollie -”

 

“Not now,” he said, eyes darting to the children. Following his gaze, Thea nodded.

 

Moira cleared her throat. “While it's, admirable, you wanting to look after the children of your Bonded,” she said, “have you thought this through fully?”

 

Oliver frowned. “Absolutely,” he replied.

 

“Really?” Moira asked. “Schooling? Food? Clothing? Discipline? You don't exactly have the best track record in those things yourself.”

 

“Thanks,” he remarked dryly. “That's exactly that the kind of support I was looking for right now.”

 

Moira scoffed. “Be reasonable,” she said. “You are not a father. What's going to happen to these children when you get bored and decide to spend your energy elsewhere?”

 

Oliver gritted his teeth, reaching out to squeeze Rose and Joe's shoulders comfortingly. Trying to wordlessly tell them that his mother was wrong.

 

“While it seems to be hard for you to understand,” he said, “I was gone for five years -”

 

“Oh, believe me, I am aware of _that.”_

 

“- and I am not the same as I was five years ago.”

 

“Which you've shown so splendidly since you've been back. Partying? Out all night. A complete lack of interest in or responsibility towards the company. You want to open a night club!”

 

There was a pause, mother and son staring at each other. Oliver sighed. “Mom,” he said. “I,” he glanced back at the children. Rose had her lip caught between her teeth, eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. She was pressed up against Grant's side. Joe pressed against Grant's other side. It made Oliver's heart ache.

 

“I didn't know how to be me – the me I've become – here,” he continued. “And it seemed like, like everyone expected me to be someone I wasn't any more. So I tried to be that person. The son you remembered.” He shrugged. “Guess I'm not very good at it.”

 

Moira took a step forward. “Then show us who you are now,” she said.

 

“A father,” Oliver replied. He glanced back at the kids. “The Island was – there was only one good thing about the Island. His name was Slade Wilson and I wanted to introduce you to him.”

 

Moira's hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oliver -”

 

“And I know I never talked about kids before – I never even thought of it before. But as soon as Slade said he had a son, I knew I wanted nothing more than to be part of that son's life.” Small fingers found their way into Oliver's larger ones. Giving a soft squeeze, he shot Joe a grateful look.

 

“But is it best for them?” Moira asked.

 

“I know you don't think too highly of me,” Oliver replied. “But yes, it is. I'm the best they've got.”

 

“They can't stay here,” Moira exclaimed, looking almost shocked at herself for the words.

 

“Then I'll move,” Oliver replied, pushing back the hurt and anger that rushed through him. He had hoped that opening up a bit about the Island and the way he'd changed would have helped his mother to understand. But she still seemed to see him as she ever had.

 

“You can't!” Moira snapped back. Her hands reached out, as though to snatch him to her.

 

“No!” Thea exclaimed at the same time. She latched onto Oliver's free hand. “We just got you back!” she said.

 

“I stay where they do,” Oliver replied, tilting his head to encompass the kids.

 

Pursing her lips, Moira stared at him.

 

“Mom,” he said, stepping towards her. “This isn't like you. What's wrong?”

 

With a sigh, Moira dropped her gaze, turning away to face the window. “I don't think you understand,” she said.

 

“Then help me to – tell me what has you so worried.”

 

“You died, Oliver.”

 

“Mom -”

 

“You died! You and your father! Thea and I mourned you – and we tried to get on with our lives. But we knew, _I_ knew, that things would never be the same. That, that our family isn't safe. You can't bring children – my grandchildren – here. They -” her voice choked as she cut herself off.

 

“You're worried they'll be hurt,” Oliver said.

 

Moira nodded.

 

“Why?”

 

She shook her head, turning back to face him. “That's not important right now,” she said. “What is, is protecting this family. It isn't safe for -”

 

“Mom,” Thea cut in, “what are you saying? You keep saying it's not safe, because Dad and Ollie died, but, that was an accident. Wasn't it?” She stared wildly between her mother and Oliver. “Wasn't it?” she demanded.

 

“All I want,” Moira replied, “is this family's safety.” Turning, she left the room.

 

Thea glared after her. “Ollie?” she asked.

 

Oliver shook his head. “I don't know,” he replied. He turned to the kids. “Well,” he said, “let's show you to your rooms.”

 

Grant gave Oliver a look, eyebrow raised, but allowed himself to be herded upstairs along with the others.

 

*

 

Leaning in the doorway, Oliver smiled to see the awe on Joe's face as he stared about his room. His hands flashed as he turned to Oliver.

 

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed. “Thea did do a good job, didn't she?”

 

“I did an amazing job!” Thea declared.

 

*

 

“We can change it, if you like,” Oliver offered. Rose's eyes were wide, mouth gaping open as she took in the floral wallpaper, lacy curtains on the four-poster bed and around the windows, and the elegant, yet plush wing-backed chairs.

 

“It's a Princess room,” she breathed.

 

Oliver chuckled. “Maybe,” he said. “I think it's more the person who lives in the room who makes it what it is. And you, are definitely a Princess!” Reaching out, he grabbed hold of Rose, easily lifting her up into a hug. Rose giggled, pressing her face close into his neck as she drew in his scent.

 

*

 

Grant grunted, taking in the large room.

 

“Same for you,” Oliver said. “Any changes, you let me know.”

 

Nodding, Grant moved into the room. The way his eyes darted around suggested he was taking everything in, looking for weaknesses and safe places.

 

“I'll leave you to it,” Oliver said. “My room is the next door down – come grab me if you need anything. At all.”

 

*

 

“So, I guess your trip was successful.”

 

Turning, Oliver smiled to see Tommy standing in the foyer. “It was,” he agreed. Walking forward, Tommy clasped his hand onto Oliver's shoulder.

  
“You going to introduce me to my new nephews and niece?” he asked.

 

“You been talking to Thea?”

 

“Yup.” Still grinning, Tommy turned to face the stairs, watching as the children made their way down. Grant led the way, protective as always. Rose clutched at him, but Joe was looking around in curiosity.

 

Reaching the bottom, they came to a halt, wary of coming any closer.

 

“This is Tommy,” Oliver introduced. “We practically grew up together.” Grant gave Tommy a considering look, before nodding sharply.

 

“By which,” Tommy said, “Ollie means that I am now, officially, your _fun_ Uncle!” He spread his arms wide.

 

Oliver rolled his eyes.

 

“Just so long as I get to be the favourite Aunt,” Thea called, walking into the room. “Hey, Tommy.”

 

“Thea.”

 

“All right,” Oliver said, stepping forward and drawing the kids in towards himself. “Back off, guys.”

 

“Are you coming through for dinner?” Moira asked, “or are you all going to stand here all evening?”

 

“Well -” began Tommy.

 

With a put-upon sigh, Moira headed out of the room.

 

*

 

“Okay,” said Thea, pointing at Oliver with her fork. “Best thing about Slade?”

 

Pausing in lifting his own fork to his mouth, Oliver let his eyes sweep over the kids. They appeared fine with the topic of conversation – so far. “Do I have to pick just one?” he asked.

 

Thea's eyebrows rose and she leaned back in her seat. “Wow. Who would have thought it. My brother, smitten.” She smirked at him.

 

Oliver rolled his eyes back at her.

 

Thea grinned. “C'mon Ollie,” she said. “Pick something – you can always change your mind later as to what is the absolute best – if you must.”

 

“Let's see...” Tapping his finger against his chin exaggeratedly, he noted Rose and Joe looking intrigued and that Grant, despite trying to appear nonchalant, was also listening intently. “His smile,” he said.

 

“That's it. You're a sap,” Thea said.

 

Oliver shrugged.

 

“Best time he smiled at you?” Thea continued.

 

“He would, well, he'd try to teach me things,” Oliver admitted. “Teach me not to be such a complete and utter failure at surviving without my money.” He gave a rueful smile. “Things like how to find safe drinking water. Or how to set an animal trap. Or skin one he caught,” he added, making Thea wrinkle her nose in distaste. “I was hopeless at it,” he admitted. “Without Slade, I would have died. Many times over.” He stared down at his plate, before looking up and back to Thea. “But when I finally got something right – he would smile at me. And it wasn't the usual smirk that let me know he was laughing at my pitiful attempts. It was something more – like pride, and happiness – for me.” He trailed off, realising just how much he'd said, and glanced away.

 

“I'm glad you had him,” Moira said.

 

Glancing up, Oliver nodded at her.  


*

 

 


	7. Settling In

Rubbing her eyes as she walked down the stairs, Thea frowned at the soft sounds drifting in through the open window. Moving towards the door that led to the small grassed area behind the house, she slipped silently outside, eyes widening as she took in the scene.

 

Early morning sunlight glinted off the dew still covering the grass and the light mist rising above it. Shivering, Thea wrapped her arms around herself.

 

Standing opposite each other, crouched into a ready stance each, Oliver and Grant faced each other. Each held a knife in one hand.

 

Grant's eyes narrowed. He leapt forward.

 

Shifting his weight, Oliver raised his blade, letting Grant's strike slide off it, before twisting round and tossing the teen to the ground.

 

Letting out a groan, Grant thumped his head back on the ground. Oliver smirked.

 

“Come on,” he said. “Get up.”

 

Grant shot him a glare.

 

Rolling his eyes, Oliver then adopted a stern pose, planting a scowl firmly on his face. “Get up, kid,” he said, voice sounded more gravelly and with an exaggerated version of the accent Rose and Grant spoke with. “Giving up is not an option! You fight – or you die.”

 

Grant gave a choked off laugh that had Oliver dropping down beside him in the grass.

 

“He really say that to you?” Grant asked.

 

Nodding, Oliver let his hand rest on Grant's shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. He grinned. “More than once.”

 

Smiling, Grant shifted, before flinging his whole body weight against Oliver. They tumbled in the grass, rolling over. For a moment, Thea thought Grant had managed to pin Oliver, and she saw a flash of blade near his throat. But then Oliver had the upper hand once more, and Grant went limp in surrender.

 

“Never let your guard down,” Oliver told him. “Even when you think you've won.”

 

Grant nodded, before accepting Oliver's hand as the Omega hauled him to his feet.

 

“Well,” said Thea, stepping forward now that there were no longer any knives flashing around. “While I think it's great to see you two getting along, don't let Mom see you. She'd have a fit.” There was a question in her eyes when she turned to Ollie, but she knew better than to ask it right then.

 

“Breakfast?” Grant suggested, heading towards the door. Oliver nodded.

 

“Yep,” he said. “And you might want to wake the others.”

 

“It's still early,” Thea said, “shouldn't they get to sleep in a bit?”

 

Grant shook his head. “They're probably already awake. The time difference has made our sleeping patterns a bit whack.”

 

“Besides,” Oliver added. “We'll be in trouble if we don't invite them for pancakes.”

 

“Oh, you're cooking?” Thea teased, eyes dancing as she moved automatically to the side to avoid the swipe Oliver aimed at her.

 

“I'll have you know,” Oliver told her, “that I can cook a great wild bird.”

 

“Which isn't pancakes,” Thea replied.

 

Ahead of them, Grant entered the house.

 

“So,” Thea said, now that they were alone. “Slade taught you how to fight?”

 

“Yeah,” Oliver replied.

 

“Why?”  
  


Oliver paused, wondering what to tell her. If the kids hadn't been around, he would have prevaricated, or made something up, not wanting to burden Thea with the knowledge of what happened on the Island.

 

But he'd promised himself never to lie to the kids. Oh, he wasn't about to go telling them everything, but he was determined not to outright lie to them.

 

“It was necessary,” he said eventually, giving her a glance before turning away.

 

“Ollie.” Hurrying to catch up to him, Thea lay her hand on his arm. “It's okay,” she said, “you don't have to tell me now, but... well, I'm here for you if you ever want to talk.”

 

He forced a smile. “Thanks, sis,” he said.

 

*

 

Joe's hands flashed, and Grant scowled at him. Despite Grant's fair hair, his facial expression so exactly mirrored Slade's at that moment that Oliver felt his throat tightening.

 

“Yeah,” Grant said, “Ollie found my knife.” He frowned, watching Grant's signing. “And yes, I know you told me he would.” Grant shook his head. “No, he didn't yell or take it off me – he said that if I was going to own a knife, I needed to know how to use it.”

 

Rose glanced up, mouth opening. Grant cut her off.

 

“He's good,” he said simply. There was a grudging respect in the glance he shot Oliver.

 

“Thanks,” Oliver replied, pushing some pancakes onto Grant's plate.

 

“Speaking of,” Thea said, “do I get to join in the family bonding time of learning to fight?” Looking over at her, Oliver noticed the seriousness behind her eyes. She wasn't just teasing or asking because she felt she had to – there was an apprehension there that suggested she really wanted to learn.

 

Oliver nodded. “Sure,” he said, “but you're going to have to get up early.”

 

Thea groaned.

 

*

 

“And this,” Oliver said, sweeping his hand out to indicate the interior of the club, “is Verdant.”

 

“A night club?” Grant asked, glancing around.

 

“Yep,” Tommy popped the 'p' as he approached. “What do you think?”

 

“Well,” said Grant, “it needs a little work.”

 

Tommy laughed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It's not quite ready yet.”

 

“So, this is what you do?”

 

“Part of it,” Oliver agreed easily, leading the kids around the room. “So, sometimes, I might need to stay back here a bit later at night.”

 

Grant nodded, keeping his place in front of his siblings easily.

 

“Well,” Tommy said, “I just popped by to see the munchkins, and now I'm off.” Grant, Joe and Rose all rolled their eyes at him. Tommy laughed. “See you at dinner!” he called.

 

Once Tommy had left, Oliver led them to the door at the back, putting in the code.

 

“This is the other thing I do,” he said.

 

The door swung open.

 

*

 

Taking in the underground area, Grant found his eyes landing on a black and grey keffiyeh. He moved towards it without conscious thought, drawing in scent deeply through his nose as he did so.

 

“Dad's,” he said. His voice was strangled and he swallowed, trying to clear his throat. A warm hand landed on his shoulder, and Grant let himself sink into the comfort Oliver offered.

 

“Yeah,” Oliver said, voice wistful. “He threw that at me one night, telling me to shut up and stop complaining about how cold it was. I still had it on when...” his voice trailed off and he shook his head, pushing the memories back.

 

Slipping forward, Rose wriggled her way between the two, eyes large as she reached out. Grant let her take the material, clasping it to her and breathing deep – the first time she had been able to take in her father's scent.

 

Oliver's scent also saturated the keffiyeh, but beneath that there was a scent of sand and spice – the same undertones she knew from her own scent and those of her brothers, as well as the way it weaved through Ollie's scent, proof of his bonding. But it was stronger, sharper – combined with the tang of Alpha, a dash of seawater, and the undertones of Jasmine and something wild that reminded her of the open air – Oliver's scent, twined with her father's through their bonding.

 

Eyes closed, Rose passed the material to Joe, letting him also take in their father's scent.

 

_I miss him_ , Joe signed, leaning against Oliver's side.

 

“Me too,” Oliver replied, wrapping an arm around Joe's shoulders. He glanced over to the small bunk bed he'd used as a place to sleep when it was either too late or he didn't want to return to the mansion. “Come on,” he said, tugging them forward. 

 

Climbing onto the bed, Oliver leant his back against the wall, legs stretched out before him. Immediately, the kids scrambled up after him, draping themselves around him and pressing close. Noses nuzzled at his neck for the comforting Omega scent he was letting off in waves. With Grant on one side, Joe on the other, and Rose curled up in his lap, Oliver accepted the keffiyeh from Joe, brushing his fingers against the fabric.

 

“Tell me about him,” he said, voice soft. “The father you knew.”

 

“I didn't,” Rose whispered, voice catching. “But Grant always said he was the best father ever.” Tears spilled over her cheeks and she turned to press her face against Oliver's neck.

 

“He was,” Grant agreed, voice rough. “He wasn't always what people might think of as a perfect father, but he was perfect for us. He was always interested in what we were doing. And, whenever he got back from an assignment, no matter how tired he was, he always made sure to spend time with us – doing whatever we wanted.”

 

_He taught me to ride a bike_ , Joe signed,  _and how to tie my shoelaces. He saved my life._

 

“He saved all our lives,” Grant replied. “He only ever went away in order to make things safer for us.” He shook his head. “He could be gruff, and impatient.”

 

Oliver snorted, sharing a grin with the teen. “Don't I know it,” he muttered.

 

“But he cared,” Grant continued. “He always cared so much for us.” 

 

“He loved you all,” Oliver said, drawing them impossibly closer. “Never doubt that.” 

 

So, wrapped around each other, they spent the afternoon sharing stories of the Father, and Bonded, they remembered.

 

*

 

“Oliver!” Walter called, warmth in his voice as Oliver came through the door. “I'm glad you're back.”

 

Oliver smiled. Attempting to parent the kids of his bonded gave him a greater appreciation for the trials Walter faced in trying to connect with him.

 

“Me too,” he replied, ushering the kids in behind him. 

 

“I was sorry to miss greeting you yesterday evening,” Walter continued, “and making the acquaintance of our new members of the family.”

 

“This is Grant,” Oliver introduced, “Joe, and Rose. Guys, this is Walter – my step-father.”

 

“Does that mean we get to call you grandfather?” Rose asked.

 

“Of course,” Walter replied, “or Walter, like Oliver does, if you prefer.” He smiled. “Well,” he said, “I believe dinner is ready – we wouldn't want to keep Moira waiting.”

 

*

 

Oliver glanced up, a chill washing over him. The kids had slipped easily into the life of the Queens. Thea had already spent a small fortune on them, and, Oliver was pleased to note, was focused more on the kids than on her previous 'friends' or own misery – which made her much happier.

 

Tommy similarly adored them, spending copious amounts of his time with them – showing them around, buying them ludicrous presents, and playing whatever game was the order of the day – whether it be dolls with Rose leading them through the game, or cricket which Grant would organise.

 

Moira still held herself stiffly around them, but there were times when she softened, as though unable to help herself. Such as when Rose had tramped inside with grass-stains all up the side of her dress.

 

“Rose!” Moira had exclaimed. “What have you done to your dress?”

 

Rose grinned brightly. “I beat Grant!” she declared proudly. Following her in, Grant grumbled.

 

“She slid to the wicket,” he said, “just beating the ball.”

 

Moira's hand raised to her heart. “Are you all right?” she had asked the young girl, beginning to fuss over her.

 

Walter had taken to the children much the same way he took to Oliver – with sincere warmth and a desire to get to know them.

 

Diggle, right from the first, had been a fixture in their lives in America - escorting them from the airport - and continued to be the person they felt safest with after Oliver.

 

In fact, they were with Diggle currently, as they took a tour of Queen Consolidated with Walter.

 

Standing, Oliver left behind the arrowheads he had been working on, swiftly grabbing his jacket and helmet, before leaving Verdant with a single-minded focus he hadn't felt since leaving the island.

 

Something was wrong.

 

They were in danger.

 

*

 

The front doors of Queen Consolidated barely slide open fast enough as Oliver dashed inside. Around him, people drew back, wary of the feral look in his eyes. Ignoring them, Oliver pounded up the stairs to the top floor – where Walter worked.

 

He didn't feel the strain of his legs muscles as he ran, or the rasp of his breath in his throat, all his attention was focused on the scent of _family_ and _fear_ that he followed.

 

“Oliver!” Pushing himself up from where he had been left in front of Walter's office, Diggle pressed a hand to his spinning head. The side of his face was covered in blood and already a large bump was forming on his head.

 

“Dig,” Oliver replied. His voice was short, sharp, succinct.

 

“Four men in black,” Diggle got out, leaning over to prevent himself from falling back to the floor. “They came in from the elevator, and took the kids.”

 

He didn't need to explain that they'd fought – that much was obvious at a glance. A potplant was overturned, dirt spilling out across the floor. One of the glass walls of Walter's office had been smashed, and the man himself was groaning from where he lay on the floor inside.

 

Oliver spun, nostrils flaring as he drew in the scents in the room deeply.

 

“ _Separate them out,”_ Slade's voice instructed him in his mind. _“Isolate them. Some will be newer than others, focus on those.”_

 

“Oliver,” Dig asked, frowning in concern as he watched his friend. “What are you going to do?”

 

Pulling a knife from the small of his back, Oliver let a dangerous smile cross his lips. 

 

“Going hunting,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed this fic so far and sent kudos. I really appreciate your support.  
> The end of this chapter is finally moving to the part of the fic I've had in mind for quite some time and been anxious to get to.  
> Apologies for the time it took to get this out - things have been rather difficult for me recently, but I hope for a happier and more productive 2016.   
> Wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas (or Happy Holidays, etc).


	8. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver goes hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, my apologies for the long wait for this chapter. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this long.
> 
> Secondly,  
> WARNING: this chapter contains some fairly graphic violence. Oliver is _not_ happy that his children have been taken. His reaction is somewhat violent.

Last Time:

 

“ _Four men in black,” Diggle got out, leaning over to prevent himself from falling back to the floor. “They came in from the elevator, and took the kids.”_

 

_He didn't need to explain that they'd fought – that much was obvious at a glance. A potplant was overturned, dirt spilling out across the floor. One of the glass walls of Walter's office had been smashed, and the man himself was groaning from where he lay on the floor inside._

 

_Oliver spun, nostrils flaring as he drew in the scents in the room deeply._

 

“ _Separate them out,” Slade's voice instructed him in his mind. “Isolate them. Some will be newer than others, focus on those.”_

 

“ _Oliver,” Dig asked, frowning in concern as he watched his friend. “What are you going to do?”_

 

_Pulling a knife from the small of his back, Oliver let a dangerous smile cross his lips._

 

“ _Going hunting,” he replied._

 

* * *

 

 

Oliver's mind slipped easily into the hyper-awareness he used when acting as the vigilante. The awareness that he had discovered and then had honed on the island. But there was something more. Something different.

 

All his instincts were screaming at him, amplified beyond anything he had experienced before. He could practically _see_ the scents hanging in the air before him, all those not belonging to Grant, Joe or Rose fading away as he focused.

 

Fingers tightening on his knife-handle, Oliver stalked forward.

 

Watching him, Diggle swallowed. He had seen Oliver angry, he had seen him as the vigiliante, he had seen him upset, desperate, and trying to put on a normal face. He had never seen Oliver like this. Grabbing his phone, he dialled 911. The police would have to be informed about the kidnapping.

 

*

 

Stepping into the elevator, Oliver drew his breath in deeply. The scents of family and fear were the strongest, but with them, underneath, were scents he committed to his memory. The smell of those who had dared to take his children.

 

Turning to the row of elevator buttons, Oliver leant forward, breathing in as he pressed his face close to them. There. That was the button they had pressed.

 

A feral grin crossed Oliver's face.

 

He would be with his children soon.

 

*

 

The call took Moira completely by surprise. Stumbling, hand going to her chest, she felt all the pain she had been trying to prevent by pushing away the children rush through her.

 

Nothing she had done had worked. She couldn't keep them safe. Couldn't keep her family safe.

 

Someone had taken her grandchildren – and they would pay when she found out who.

 

Straightening up, Moira lifted the phone back up to her ear. “Thank you, officer,” she said. “I will be there shortly. Please keep me informed of any developments.”

 

Then, straightening her skirt, she stalked towards the door of their family home. She would not rest until the children were back. Safe.

 

*

 

Police called, Dig moved to help Walter, shifting the older man into a recovery position. He had been knocked out in his office, and though he had rather a large lump on his head from the blow, didn't appear to be in any serious danger.

 

Still, it was better to be safe. They would only know for sure how Walter was once he woke up.

 

Dig glanced back to the elevator. He wanted to follow Oliver. To make sure the other man was safe – and perhaps, more importantly, to ensure that those Oliver came into contact with were okay. The look in Oliver's eyes as he left had Diggle on edge.

 

*

 

Oliver paced while the elevator moved – oh so slowly, between floors. They'd taken his children up. There was only one level higher than Walter's office – and that was a half-level, with half of it forming part of the building's roof. The other half was rarely used – more storage space and ventilation than anything else.

 

_Smart move_ , Slade's voice muttered. _Most people would assume they headed down, to get out of the building and away. They won't expect you to find them so soon._

 

Reaching out, Oliver slapped the emergency stop button. The lift halted. There was no reason to let the lift finish its ascent and open the doors – he didn't want to give them any warning that he was coming for them.

 

*

 

“You have them?”

 

“Yes.”

 

A smirk. “Good. Any problems?”

 

“Nothing we couldn't handle.”

 

“Keep them quiet and secure. This shouldn't take too long.”

 

“Understood.”

 

A click as the phone hung up. Moving over to the window, Malcolm Merlyn stared out over Starling City. “Oh Moira,” he said, “you are far too easy to predict.”

 

He glanced at the time. He'd let her sweat a little more before giving her a call – and reminding her of what happened when she tried to disobey him.

 

*

 

Pushing open the emergency hatch at the top of the lift, Oliver grasped the sides with his hands, drawing himself up easily. Muscles that had been honed through long hours on the island, and since maintained, making his motion fluid and graceful.

 

On top of the lift, he glanced over to the doors which led out into the top floor. He'd stopped the lift with barely enough space for him to sit, between the lift and the roof of the elevator shaft.

 

A quick survey of his surroundings confirmed what he had thought. There was another set of doors, a bit further away. He vaguely remembered seeing an 'out of order' sign on that particular elevator before taking the stairs.

 

_Be aware of your surroundings. You never know what may come in useful_.

 

They wouldn't be expecting him from there.

 

Grinning, which was really more of an exercise in baring his teeth than anything else, Oliver reached out, grasping hold of the large elevator cables and swinging himself over to the other set of doors.

 

He began to pry them open.

 

*

 

The paramedics arrived quickly, along with the police, allowing Dig to step away from Walter and let them do their job.

 

“Mr Diggle,” one of the detectives said. “Can you tell us what happened here?”

 

Glad that, for once, Lance didn't appear to be the first on the scene, Dig nodded. “I was here with the kids,” he said.

 

“Kids?”

 

He nodded. “They're Oliver's -”

 

“Hang on.” And there was Lance, Dig's relief evaporating as he realised he'd have to deal with the irate detective anyway. “Queen was missing for five years. How the hell does he have kids?”

 

The first detective, Simms, turned to Lance. “Haven't you seen the news?” she asked. “The Queen family released a statement saying that, yes, the kids he was photographed with are under his care now.”

 

“Who on earth would trust Queen with kids?”

 

Simms frowned at Lance, turning her attention back to Diggle. “Please, continue,” she said.

 

Dig nodded. “I was watching the kids, giving them a tour of the company with Walter.”

 

“Figures, Queen can't even stay with them,” Lance muttered.

 

Forcing himself not to react, Dig continued. “We'd finished the tour and came up to Walter's office. The elevator opened – unexpected, as all Walter's appointments are organised beforehand, and he wasn't expecting anyone.

 

“I stepped out of the office, telling Walter to call security. Eight men came out of the elevator. Four of them attacked me, while the other four rushed into the office.” He shook his head. “I don't think Walter had a chance to call. They knocked Walter out, grabbed the kids, and returned to the elevator.

 

“I had been hit pretty good, and was trying to get back up, when Oliver arrived. He went after the kids, and I went to Walter and rang 911.”

 

“Great. Just what we need,” Lance said. “Queen's gone after the kids.” He shook his head. “What does he expect to do, track them?”

 

Simms was frowning once more. “How was he?” she asked.

 

Dig glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

 

“Mr Queen. Was he agitated?”

 

Dig nodded, slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “But also, strangely calm.” He paused. “Actually, I'm not sure what he was doing here, he wasn't meant to come pick up the kids 'til later.”

 

Simms cursed, motioning towards one of the paramedics.

 

“What?” Lance asked.

 

“He was single-minded?” Simms asked, “focused on the kids?”

 

Dig nodded. “He's been pretty focused on them ever since he gained custody,” he replied.

 

“Do you think he could be violent?”

 

Dig hesitated. Knowing Oliver's extra-curricular activities as the vigilante, he would answer in the affirmative at any time.

 

Impatient, Simms spoke once more. “Mr Diggle,” she said, “I need to know if we're dealing with a possibly Feral Omega.”

 

And that was what had been bothering Dig, he realised. Oliver hadn't just been focused. He'd been more than that. Connected to his instincts beyond anything Dig had ever seen before (and Oliver could connect to his instincts better than anyone else Dig knew).

 

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I think we could be.”

 

Lance scoffed. “You've got to be kidding,” he said. “Omega's don't go feral anymore. Certainly not ones like Queen.”

 

Simms gave him a rather unimpressed look. “Oliver Queen,” she said, “was stranded on an island for five years. Long periods of isolation or wilderness survival have been known to put anyone more in touch with their instincts. Add to that, the fact that his children have just been taken – after he's returned to a place in which he's meant to be safe.

 

“So yes, I think it incredibly likely that Oliver Queen, Omega, and parent to the three missing children, has entered a feral protective state in response. No doubt, his instincts were one of the few things keeping him alive while he was missing. Faced with danger again, particularly danger to children – and ones he has claimed as his – a feral episode is expected.”

 

She paused. “Do remember that the laws governing the handling of feral omegas, particularly those in a protective state, have not been changed, despite how rare it is for an omega to experience said state these days. We need to be careful.”

 

Lance scowled back at her, but, in the back of his mind was the question – could Queen really have gone feral? And what would they find when they found either Queen or the kids?

 

He didn't like the thought of Queen being feral – that would mean the kid truly cared for the children. Something Lance didn't like as it was easier to hate the kid when he thought of him as just an irresponsible playboy, who cared for no-one but himself.

 

*

 

Slowly opening the doors, Oliver peered out between them. The room beyond was dark and he slipped easily inside.

 

Pausing, he listened. Lifting his head to scent the air.

 

There. To his right. _Family_ and _Fear._

 

Slinking forward, Oliver stayed near the wall, listening and scenting.

 

_Use your surroundings to your advantage. They're not something to avoid, they're another tool. A weapon._

 

There were eleven scents in the room beyond. Three – _family_ . Eight – _those who stole family_.

 

Poised by the doorway, light spilling out beneath it, Oliver listened. And waited.

 

*

 

Moira stalked into the room, radiating calm, but also a suppressed agitation and need to do something.

 

“Have there been any demands?” she asked.

 

“None,” Simms replied, guiding Moira out of the way. Around them, police officers were gearing up – in full tactical gear. Moira frowned at the scene.

 

“What is happening?” she asked.

 

“We think Mr Queen may have entered a feral protective state,” Simms informed her.

 

Gasping, Moira stumbled back, hand reaching out to steady herself as she sank down into a seat. “Oliver?” she asked. “Feral?”

 

“It's not confirmed,” Simms replied, “but going by his reaction as described by his bodyguard – we think so, yes.”

 

Shaking, Moira raised her hand to her mouth. She hadn't wanted Oliver to be hurt again. Never again. He was meant to be _safe_!

 

*

 

Hands tied behind him, a scrape on his cheek, bruise forming on his forehead, Grant was furious. These men had dared to take him and his siblings. To _hurt_ them.

 

Rose was breathing unevenly, her earlier sniffles turning into breathy gasps as she tried to quiet herself. Joe was wide-eyed, face pale. Grant wanted to hurt these people.

 

“Stop staring!” one of the men snapped, stepping closer to glare down at Joe. Shrinking back, Joe ducked his head. “That's better,” the man said. “Now, what aren't you going to do?”

 

Joe, of course, didn't reply. With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn't.

 

The man scowled. “I asked you a question!” he snapped. “Answer me!”

 

“He can't!” Grant shot back. “He's mute.” He set his jaw, scowling fiercely as the man turned to him.

 

The man crouched down, leaning towards Grant. “Did I ask you?” he said.

 

Against Grant's side, Joe stiffened. Glancing down, Grant frowned, watching the way Joe tilted his head. As though listening. And scenting. He smiled.

 

The man frowned. “What's he smiling for?” he asked.

 

Grant shrugged, shaking his head. “Don't know,” he replied.

 

Reaching out, the man grabbed his hair, drawing his head back harshly. “I should teach you some manners,” he said.

 

“Leave 'em, Ed,” one of the other men called. “We just have to make sure they don't go anywhere. This is just a warning.”

 

“Warnings go better when the goods come back a little damaged,” Ed replied. “Besides,” he added. “This one cut me.” He glared at Grant, who felt a flash of pride at knowing he'd managed to harm one of the man that had taken them. He'd have to get Oliver to keep teaching him to use his knife. He'd be even better next time.

 

Rose paused in her shaky breathing, staring up at the men. “You're going to be sorry,” she said.

 

“Yeah? Why's that?” the second man asked, sounding amused.

 

Rose smiled up at him. “Because Ome's coming.”

 

*

 

Gearing up, the police began to spread out, sweeping the building.

 

“What we really need is a tracker,” Simms complained, “but we don't have time to get one here.” The kidnappers had likely headed down, down to ground level where they would likely have had a vehicle waiting for them.

 

Still, it would have been nice to know for sure.

 

Pacing, Moira kept glancing at her phone. She was sure she knew who was behind this – but there was nothing she could do until he rang – she'd tried calling earlier, and been unable to get through.

 

*

 

The man laughed. “No-one's coming for you, sweatheart,” he said, “'cos no-one knows where you are.”

 

The door crashed open.

 

For a moment, Oliver was framed in the doorway, large and solid in the light of the room. His eyes flashed, gleaming with a primal edge that none of the mercenaries had seen before. The knife in his hand also gleamed.

 

Leaping forward, Oliver pounced on the thug nearest him, one arm wrapping around his torso, the other arm coming up to draw his blade across the thug's throat. Wordless, Oliver released the man, moving on as the thug swayed for a moment, eyes wide, hands fluttering towards his throat, before sinking to the ground, dead.

 

One of the men ran towards Oliver. Not stopping, Oliver simply side-stepped his first punch, blocked the second, and rammed the handle of his knife into the man's throat – crushing his wind pipe.

 

The two men nearest the kids stared in shock for a moment – it had been mere seconds since Oliver entered the room. One turned towards Oliver. Ed turned towards the kids.

 

With a snarl, Oliver, ducked beneath the mercenary's guard, bodily flipping him over him, racing towards where Ed was reaching for Rose.

 

Crashing into the other man, Oliver used his weight and momentum to bear him down to the ground. They rolled, Oliver coming out on top (thank you Slade for all that practice rolling around on the ground trying to pin each other).

 

Thrusting his elbow out as Ed reached for him, Oliver connected solidly with the man's arm – breaking it. Ed cried out. Shifting his knee, Oliver trapped Ed's other arm, quickly swiping his knife across the man's throat.

 

With a gurgle, Ed went limp.

 

Pushing himself to his feet, blood spattered across his face and chest, Oliver leapt for the thug he had flipped. The man was pushing himself dazedly to his feet – he didn't make it.

 

Oliver landed on his back, ripping his head back with one hand in his hair, as the other drew his knife across a third throat.

 

It had been less than 30 seconds since he entered the room.

 

The other four mercenaries were on the other side of the room, leaving the kids relatively safe for the moment. Dropping down beside them, Oliver rubbed his face against theirs in a quick motion, as his hands found the rope tying Grant's hands behind his back.

 

Knife sliding through the rope, Oliver freed him, before pressing the knife into his hands.

 

Grant stared up at him, nodding solemnly. “I'll protect them,” he said. Oliver's eyes darted back the way he had come. Grant nodded.

 

Standing, Oliver turned back to the men. They had armed themselves.

 

Running forward, Oliver drew their attention, even as he propelled himself off the wall, grabbing onto an overhead beam and swinging himself up. The room was large – with a high ceiling with bare beams criss-crossing over it.

 

Gunfire sounded, loud in the near silence.

 

A quick glance showed Grant hurrying the others out of the room, away from the men. Good.

 

Running lightly along the beam, Oliver jumped to the next one, smile feral as he felt the bullets pass inches from him.

 

Another leap, and he was above the men. He dropped.

 

Arms snapping out, Oliver grabbed two of the men as he fell, driving their heads together, before he flipped backwards, letting his foot catch a third in the chest, shoving him harshly into the table behind him.

 

The fourth man pointed his gun in Oliver's face.

 

“I'm going to enjoy killing you,” he said. He shouldn't have spoken.

 

Driving forward, Oliver ducked under his guard, arm sweeping up and knocking the gun away from him, as he employed one of the very first things Slade had taught him – how to disarm an armed opponent.

 

Following through, Oliver went further than originally taught, wrenching the man's arm from his shoulder as he forced him to release the gun.

 

Spinning around, Oliver brought the man up in front of him, allowing the spray of bullets from the other three to decorate the thug.

 

Dropping the thug, Oliver slid forward. Arm knocking one of the men's guns away, his other hand lashed out, pointer and middle fingers driving into the man's eyes, pushing them back into the skull. Tossing the man at one of his companions, Oliver twisted his body as he turned to face the other, letting the bullets slide past him.

 

Stepping forward, hearing the gun click on empty, Oliver grinned. Reaching out, he grabbed the thug's head between his hands, giving it a sharp twist.

 

Letting go, Oliver let the lifeless thug sink to the ground as he turned to face the last mercenary. Shoving his dead-weight companion off him, the thug surged to his feet.

 

This thug obviously had some martial arts training. But each twitch of muscle, each slight change in scent, each dart of his eyes – all those were like neon signs to Oliver, deep in his instincts as he was.

 

Batting the man's moves aside, Oliver reached down, grabbing the man's knife from where it hung on his belt – before driving it up between his ribs and into his heart.

 

Spinning on his heel, Oliver stalked out of the room. He had no need to check any of the men. His senses told him that they were dead.

 

Entering the darkened room beyond, Oliver saw Grant in the corner, the others pressed behind him as he stood, knife held in his hand, just as Oliver had shown him.

 

_Family. Family. Family. Family._ Oliver's instincts pounded at him.

 

Seeing Oliver, Grant relaxed minutely.

 

“Oliver?” he asked.

 

Nodding, Oliver half-ran the last few steps to them, drawing all three into his arms, face pressed against them as he drew in their scents, trying to reassure them, and himself, that they were safe. They were safe now.

 

“Ome!” Rose cried, flinging her arms around his neck as she burst into tears. Joe wriggled as close as he could get, practically climbing into Oliver's lap beside Rose. Grant tucked his face into Oliver's neck, breathing deep the calming Omega scent Oliver was letting off.

 

Leaning back against the wall, the three children gathered tight to him, Oliver just held them, letting the slow change of their scents, from _fear_ to _safety,_ calm him.

 

His instincts were still on high alert. If anyone so much as stepped foot on this floor, he would know about it. But, for now, they were safe.


	9. No Ransom

_Tension continues to mount at Queen Consolidated as concern for the kidnapped children increases. While no statement has yet been released by the Queen family, it is generally believed the children in question are Starling City's favourite Omega, Oliver Queen's, new children._

 

_Inside sources suggest the Queen scion has not been seen since shortly after the kidnapping. Rumours are circulating as to his possible reaction to the kidnapping – including a recurring one that the new father is attempting to find the children himself._

 

_Moira Queen is currently liaising with the police, but as yet there have been no ransom demands made. Which begs the question – just who has taken the children? And why?_

 

_From what we have been able to determine, the three children were visiting Queen Consolidated's CEO, and their adopted grandfather, Walter Steele, at the time of the kidnapping. Mr Steele was injured in the attack, but remains stable -_

 

Mouth falling open in shock, Thea spun on her heel, dashing for the street outside.

 

“Thea?” her friend called after her, but she ignored her. Fuming, Thea stalked over to the curb, hand raised to call a taxi. She couldn't believe no-one had thought to call her. To let her know what was going on. To think that she'd had to hear it from a news program on the television.

 

They were _her_ family too! Her nephews and niece!

 

Sliding into the back of the taxi, Thea shot the driver a sharp look. “Queen Consolidated,” she demanded. “As fast as you can.”

 

In response to his raised eyebrow, she simply threw him a wad of cash, not caring how much it was. Glancing at the notes, the driver gave a nod, before peeling out into traffic. Thea leant back against the seat, still fuming.

 

*

 

“Just drop me here,” Thea demanded, glaring at the news vans and other various and sundry vehicles which were making it impossible to find a park near Queen Considated.

 

“We're in the middle of the street,” her driver replied.

 

Rolling her eyes, Thea reached over, pushing open her door and making him slam on his brakes with a curse.

 

“Thank you,” she muttered, stalking out of the taxi and towards the front doors of the building.

 

There was police tape set up outside the doors, uniformed officers working to keep the gawking crowds back. Drawing a deep breath, and pulling up all her hauteur and determination, Thea strode forward.

 

Almost unconsciously, the crowd began to part for her, before some became aware of who she was. Instantly, the press moved in, throwing questions at her and trying to thrust microphones in her face.

 

They wanted to know what she knew. How she felt. Had she heard anything yet. Did she think the children were still alive?

 

Clenching her hands into fists, and wishing she could flatten the lot of them, Thea kept her head held high, continuing her stride forward as they rushed at her, pushing on.

 

“Hey!”

 

Suddenly there was someone there, jogging forward to meet her. Tommy. Refusing to let her relief show, Thea simply gave him a nod as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, bodily shielding her from the over-eager crowd.

 

Reaching the police tape, Tommy reached out, lifting it up and guiding her underneath.

 

“You can't come in here,” one of the officers informed them, moving over with a frown on his face.

 

Thea shot him a cold look.

 

The officer was undeterred, glaring at Tommy. “This is a police investigation, Mr Merlyn,” he said, “as you already know. You will have to wait outside.”

 

Ignoring him, Thea strode forward, pulling Tommy with her as he still had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. The officer stepped into her path.

 

Turning her cold gaze on him, Thea curled her upper lip, a growl rumbling just below hearing in her chest. “Move,” she hissed.

 

The officer faltered for a moment, before straightening. “You can't -” he began.

 

“ _I_ ,” Thea responded, “am Thea Queen.” She gave him a look that suggested that that should be enough, before continuing on. “This is _my_ family's building. Those are _my_ nephews and niece who are missing. And it is _my_ family who currently need my support.” Sweeping past him, she stalked through the doors and into the entry foyer.

 

“You,” Tommy told her, “are totally badass, did you know that?”

 

Turning, Thea gave him a small smirk, before all the concern came rushing back in on her, making her grimace and turn away. Her hands shook lightly and she swallowed.

 

The elevator's appeared to be currently halted, a number of police standing in front of them, so she headed for the stairs, Tommy following her.

 

“What do you know?” she asked as they began to climb.

 

Tommy shrugged. “Not much,” he admitted, the concern in his voice audible. “I heard about it on the news.”

 

Thea snorted. “Well, that makes two of us,” she said. “You'd think they'd have the decency to tell us themselves, but no...” her voice trailed off and she blinked rapidly, refusing to dash her hands against her face and the tears that had escaped.

 

“Hey,” Tommy said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I'm sure they were simply so busy trying to do all they can for the kids that they didn't have time before the press picked up the story. You know what vultures they can be.”

 

Thea nodded, but made no other reply.

 

*

 

By the time they reached Walter's office, the pair were panting.

 

“Man,” Tommy groaned as they exited the stairwell onto the correct floor. “I need to get fitter.”

 

“You and me both,” Thea replied with a snort. The area before them was full of police, most kitted out in full tactical gear, which made Thea swallow nervously.

 

There were still bits of broken glass and other signs of the attack around, but Thea forcefully ignored them as she strode forward to where she could see her mother holding court in Walter's office.

 

“I have already told you everything I know,” Moira snapped at the Detective speaking to her. “It is hardly my fault if your people are so incompetent that they have yet to find anything.”

 

“They are scouring the building as we speak,” the detective replied. “There is no evidence that they left the building via any of the ground level or carpark exits. Which suggests that they are still here.”

 

“And yet you have yet to find them! Or determine where my son has gone!”

 

“Mom?” Thea asked, stepping forward. She could feel Tommy's solid presence at her back, giving her strength.

 

“Thea,” Moira said, turning to her with a frown. “What are you doing here?”

  
Thea laughed, but there was nothing humourous in the sound. “What am I doing here?” she asked. “My nephews and niece have been kidnapped! Where else would I be?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at her mother, daring her to comment.

 

Moira turned away with a sigh.

 

“Thea Queen, right?” the detective asked.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Detective Simms,” the detective introduced herself. “I was hoping you could answer a few questions about your brother.”

 

“About Ollie? Why?” Thea frowned, wondering just what the detective was hinting at.

 

Simms sighed. “It's entirely possible that Oliver Queen has entered a feral protective state in response to the kidnapping of his children,” she explained. “Have you ever observed your brother in a feral state before?”

 

“This is hardly -” Moira began.

 

“As we have yet to find Oliver, either,” Simms continued, “it's entirely likely that anything that will help us find him will also help in finding the children.” She looked concerned, which Thea thought was better than the treatment which they usually got – which generally including Lance scowling at them and making barely-veiled accusations.

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But then, Ollie's different since he's been back from the island.”

 

Simms nodded. “I suspected as much,” she said. “Our department psychologist agrees with me. That his time on the island would likely have put him more in tune with his instincts and thus making him more prone to slipping into a feral state.” She sighed.

 

“And how, exactly, does this help us find them?” Moira demanded.

 

Simms continued to focus on Thea. “Have you noticed any tendencies in your brother to react in a certain way or go somewhere in particular when he feels upset or threatened?” she asked.

 

Biting her lip, Thea considered it. “I'm not sure,” she said, giving her head a shake. “Generally if he's stressed he just goes off by himself and exercises. From what I've seen, at least.”

 

Simms nodded. “And if you had to guess as to where he would be if in a feral state?”

 

This time, Thea had no need to hesitate or guess or doubt. “With the kids,” she replied instantly. “He'd be with the kids.”

 

Moira scoffed. “You can't possibly think he would have been able to find them?” she asked.

 

Thea scowled back at her. “What would you know?” she asked, “you're the one who keeps trying to push them away!”

 

There was a shout from the direction of the elevators.

 

*

 

Tommy watched in both worry and bemusement as Thea bulldozed her way to just where she wanted to be. He could barely believe that any of this was happening. To think that the kids, those adorable munchkins (which he would never say to their faces, particularly not Grant's), had been taken.

 

But for what? That was what he couldn't figured out. If it was just about the money – the only explanation he could think of – then they would have sent a ransom demand, the lack of which was extremely worrying.

 

“We've found them!” someone cried out.

 

Instantly, Moira spun on her heel, stalking towards them, Thea at her side. Detective Simms hurried forward.

 

“Hold up!” the detective called, resorting to grabbing hold of Moira's arm when she ignored her. Pulling to a halt, Moira turned to glare at her.

 

“Remove your hand from my person,” the Queen matriarch demanded.

 

Simms simply glared back at her. “Your son is in a feral state,” she said, as though explaining something extremely obvious. “That means that we need to approach with caution. In that state, he could see any of us as a threat, and attack.”

 

Glancing between them, Thea suddenly darted forward, slipping into the elevator, Tommy on her heels as he noticed her movement. They slipped inside just as the doors were closing. The officers inside gave them stern looks.

 

“Stay back,” a woman who looked somewhat uncomfortable in the tactical gear she was wearing said, watching them through serious eyes. “We have no idea yet just what it is we'll be walking into. We don't want to make things any worse.”

 

Tommy guessed that she was the department psychologist, there to try and assess the situation and Oliver's current state of mind. He swallowed, wondering whether Oliver really was in a feral state, and just what that would mean for his friend.

 

Thea slipped her hand into his, giving it a tight squeeze, before withdrawing. Tommy shot her a quick, forced grin.

 

The elevator doors opened into a large, long room, with doors leading off it. A number of police officers were gathered near the elevator, clustered together and not venturing any further into the room. In the far corner, pressed up tight between the two walls, was Oliver and the kids.

 

The kids were all clinging to Oliver, eyes wide. Pressing them back into the corner with his body, Oliver had situated himself between the kids and the rest of the room, upper lip curled back in a snarl as his eyes tracked the movement of the police officers.

 

“Shit,” the psychologist hissed as soon as she got a look at him. “He's feral!” She glanced around at the officers. “Stay back!” she ordered. “Approaching will likely make him more agitated and prone to attack. Has anyone been able to tell whether the children are injured at all?”

 

There were shakes of heads all around. “He's keeping them behind him,” an officer said with a frown, “and starts growling if we get any closer.”

 

Looking at Ollie, Thea could see all the tension coiled tightly in his muscles, ready to move and react at a moment's notice. His eyes were both bright and dull. Bright with alertness as he tracked them all, yet dull without the normal joking laughter and considered thinking they normally held. He was acting purely on instinct.

 

“Shit,” the psychologist repeated. “We need to get him calmed down so that we can ensure both him and the children are all right.” She frowned. “Where's his Alpha?”

 

Thea bit her lip. “He's dead,” she said. The look she received in return suggested that that was _not good_.

 

Over Ollie's shoulder, Joe poked his head up, giving a small smile as he spotted Thea. That was all it took to break her out of her shock.

 

Immediately, Thea darted forward, dodging that hands that reached for her as the officers cried out, calling her back for her own safety.

 

Cursing, Tommy dashed after her, not entirely sure what he was doing, but also knowing that he couldn't simply let her run into danger by herself (even as his mind refused to acknowledge that Oliver could be that danger).

 

*

 

Tensing, Oliver snarled as someone approached, getting ready to fight. No-one would harm his children. No-one.

 

_Family. Safe._ Relaxing minutely, Oliver shifted, watching the teenager approach. _Safe. Family_.

 

Trusting his instincts, Oliver moved to the side as Thea approached, letting her slip past him and fling her arms around the children, shifting back to keep her protected behind him. She was family and she was safe.

 

Behind Thea, came Tommy, making Oliver's lip curl once before, before he paused. The scent of _family_ wasn't as strong on this man as it was on Thea. But he shared part of Thea's scent, the same way Oliver did. Which made him Thea's family. And made him safe.

 

Tommy came to a halt just before Oliver, anxious yet not wanting to show it as he faced his best friend. “Ollie?” he asked.

 

Oliver didn't reply, simply shifting just enough that Tommy could also slip past him to where Thea and the children were gathered in the corner. Sinking down to his knees, Tommy gathered them to him, breathing in their scents and sharing a relieved look with Thea. They were fine. They were safe.

 

Growling drew Tommy's attention back to Oliver who had tensed once more as the officers tried to approach.

 

“Stop!” the psychologist called out, halting them. “You're only making it worse.” She frowned as she looked at them.

 

Which was when Moira arrived, stepping smoothly from the elevator, only to halt when she took in the tableau before her.

 

*

 

There was someone else there. _Family_ and _threat_ all in one. Oliver hissed, the two instincts warring inside him, eyes narrowing.

 

Moira's hands flew to her mouth to cover her gasp as she noticed Thea and Tommy huddled in the group behind Oliver. She had never seen her son look like that before. Like he could, and would, kill if he needed to.

 

She could see blood on his clothing, mind racing as she wondered if it was his, how badly he was hurt?

 

Taking a step forward, Moira stared at the group. Thea and Tommy had been allowed close to Oliver. Tommy wasn't even related to him. That meant that she, as Oliver's mother, should have some command of the situation.

 

Squaring her shoulders, Moira fixed Oliver with a stern, no-nonsense look. “Oliver Queen,” she snapped, “you will stop that this instant!”

 

Immediately, Oliver's low hissing changed to a loud, rumbling growl.

 

“Back up!” the psychologist ordered, an officer grabbing Moira's arm to pull her backwards along with them.

 

Moira scowled. “That is _my_ son,” she said.

 

“Who is in a feral state,” the psychologist replied.

 

“He let Thea and Tommy near him!”

 

“Yes, well. For some reason, he sees you as a threat.”

 

Moira stiffened at the words, making the psychologist sigh.

 

“Look,” she said, “right now, Mr Queen is operating solely on instinct. We have no idea what it is about you that he sees as a threat or why, and even when he comes out of it, he may not be able to tell you what caused this reaction.” She shook her head. “For all we know, it could be something as simple as your age.”

 

Moira frowned.

 

The woman motioned back towards the group in the corner. “He's protecting them,” she said. “The three children are obviously young, Thea is his younger sister. The other man,” she gave Moira a questioning glance.

 

“Tommy's a few months older than Oliver,” Moira replied. “But Oliver's always tried to look after him.”

 

“Okay. Then we need to work with that. Right now, we need to get Mr Queen calm enough that he will slip back into a normal frame of mind.” She glanced around, motioning Detective Simms over. “Can you get everyone out?” she asked.

 

Simms frowned. “Is that wise? What if he decides to attack?”

 

“I doubt it,” came the response. “He's stayed in that corner, only becoming aggressive when approached. Right now, he's focused entirely on protecting those behind him. So let's make him feel more comfortable and less like they need to be protected.”

 

“Okay,” Simms agreed, motioning the officer's back.

 

“You can't be serious!” Lance hissed, having just arrived. “You can't leave those kids with Queen in this state! He gets people killed when he's normal, let alone -”

 

“Detective Lance,” Simms cut in firmly, ignoring the prickling feeling of hostile eyes against her back and the suddenly loud snarls and growls coming from Oliver's corner. “I suggest you remove yourself from this situation.”

 

Lance scowled, “I -” he began.

 

“Are too close,” Simms replied, softer, but still as firm. “Right now, your personal dealings with Mr Queen are getting in the way of you doing your job. Please leave before I'm forced to have you escorted out.”

 

Lance glared at her, but she simply stared straight back at him, unmoving.

 

“Fine,” he muttered, spinning on his heel and stalking towards the elevators. Letting out a breath of relief, Simms turned back to survey the situation.

 

“What now?” Moira asked her.

 

“Now?” Simms said, watching as Oliver calmed some once she, the psychologist and Moira were the only ones left in the room. “We wait.”

 

*

 

Arms wrapped around Grant, Joe and Rose, Thea held them tightly to her. The panic she had felt when she heard they had been kidnapped was not something she was likely to forget any time soon. Strong arms were wrapped around her – Tommy – and Oliver crouched in guard before them, tense and ready to act.

 

Despite the worries of the officers and others, the blood she knew was spattered across Oliver's clothing, and the fact that the kids _had_ been kidnapped – Thea had never felt safer.

 

She understood, in a way, why everyone was freaking out about Oliver being in a 'feral state'. But honestly, she thought they were over-reacting. As soon as Oliver was sure they were all safe, she was certain he would calm done and return to his normal, post-island, self.

 

Hearing people leaving, Thea released her grip enough to peek over Oliver's shoulder. Soon only her mother, a detective and who she thought was the psychologist were left.

 

Oliver shifted, settling some, still ready to move at a moment's notice, but not quite so tense. Leaning forward, Thea rested her weight against his back.

 

“Hey Ollie,” she said softly, turning her face to scent his neck. Oliver moved automatically, giving her access. Thea smiled. She was right.

 

Glancing back at the kids, Thea locked eyes with Grant, before jerking her head towards Oliver. Giving a jerky nod, Grant moved forward, leaning up against Oliver's other shoulder.

 

Watching them, Rose grinned, before scooting forward and leaping up, trusting her brother and aunt to catch her as she wrapped her arms around Oliver's neck, pressing her face to the base of his skull as she scented him.

 

“Ome,” Rose said, legs winding around Oliver's waist, Thea and Grant's hands on her back holding her steady.

 

Oliver shifted, settling further back. His eyes were still on the others, over by the elevators, but his body was slowly relaxing, welcoming them in.

 

Shifting, Thea allowed Joe to wriggle up between her and Oliver as he tapped his fingers on Oliver's shoulder, letting the Omega know he was there.

 

Watching them, Tommy shook his head in disbelief at their fearlessness considering Oliver's feral state, and at the way his friend relaxed further. Shifting forward, Tommy reached out, placing his hand on Oliver's other shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

 

“Hey buddy,” he said. “It's okay to come back now. It's safe. You're safe.” He glanced at the kids. “ _They're_ safe.”

 

*

 

With his children and sister pressed up against him, feeling the beat of their hearts, hearing their breath and smelling their calming scents, Oliver began to relax.

 

_Family_ but _not family_ was also there, but his presence was calming. The Omega knew he would do nothing to harm Thea, who was family to him. And Thea would never allow any harm to come to the kids.

 

Around him, he heard them talking to him, assuring him they were all right. Rose's soft voice edging into giggles at times. Grant, gruff, but relieved. Thea, calming yet ready to defend at any moment.

 

Slowly, he felt the barrage of his instincts begin to retreat, normal thought crawling back into his mind.

 

*

 

“He looks relaxed,” Moira said, standing and taking a step forward.

 

Simms' hand shot out, holding her back. “Wait,” she said. Oliver curled his lip as he watched them sharply. Moira's phone rang.

 

Frowning, she snatched it up, eyes turning flinty as she took in the caller name.

 

“What?” she snapped, feeling no need to engage in pleasantries.

 

“Tut, tut,” Malcolm replied, “is that any way to speak to the man who can help you get your grandchildren back?” She could hear the smile in his voice, and it made her want to strangle him.

 

Still, she remained silent, all too aware of the listening ears around her.

 

“Well then,” Malcolm said, seemingly taking her silence as some kind of acquiescence. “All I need from you, is your assurance that things are on schedule. After all, you do want to see your grandchildren again, don't you?” he asked.

 

“Actually,” Moira said, “I'm looking at them right now.” The sharp intake of breath let her know she'd surprised him. “So, thank you for your concern, but I think things will be under control quite soon.” She cut the phonecall, not waiting for his reply.

 

Behind her, the elevator doors opened.

 

“And just what do you think _you're_ doing here?” Moira demanded, glaring at the man who stepped out. “You're job was to protect them, but you failed there, you -”

 

Ignoring the Queen matriarch, Diggle stepped forward, walking confidently across the room towards the small huddle. He kept his hands held out from his sides, arms open, face and posture relaxed.

 

Coming to a halt a few metres away, he locked eyes with Oliver.

 

*

 

There was someone new. Coming towards them. Oliver tensed, ready to fight if he needed to. But the man was non-threatening, and his scent tickled something in the back of his mind.

 

He wasn't _family_ , but nor was he _threat_.

 

_Pack_ . The man was _pack._ Tilting his head, Oliver watched as the man came to a halt before him, waiting to see if he would be allowed to approach.

 

Lips curving into something between a smile and a snarl, Oliver dipped his head once.

 

*

 

Not letting the relief he felt at Oliver's reaction show – or the sense of amazement at how much the other man trusted him – Dig moved forward, until he could crouch down next to Oliver, eyes raking over the kids, Thea and Tommy.

 

“Hey,” he said softly.

 

Tommy shot him a wry grin. “Hey Dig,” he replied.

 

Thea looked up at him. “We're doing the right thing, aren't we?” she asked, hands stroking through Oliver's hair as she spoke. Dig nodded.

 

“Yeah. Yeah,” he said. “You're doing great.” He looked back to Oliver. “Oliver,” he said, “the kids are safe. You've taken care of the threat. No-one will harm them now. We won't let them. The kids are safe.” He repeated it over and over, Thea and Tommy and Grant joining in as they saw how it calmed Oliver.

 

Until, finally, Oliver relaxed fully, blinked, and turned to face them.

 

“Hey,” Digg said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

 

“Hey,” Oliver replied. In response, he found himself buried under the enthusiastic hugs of Thea and the kids (even Grant, though he would deny it later).

 

Tommy laughed.

 

Glancing up at Digg, Oliver frowned. “How did you know what to do?” he asked.

 

Digg shrugged. “Army's an easy place for people to slip into a feral state,” he said simply, helping Oliver to his feet.

 

As they turned to face the three waiting for them, Oliver noted the surprise and approval one woman's face. The relief in the Detective's, and the way his mother wrung her hands as though she wanted to rush towards them.

 

Instincts still heightened, even if no longer controlling him, Oliver also noted the urge he had to protect the children from her.

 

*

 

_Here we watch the scene as Oliver Queen, claimed by many to be Starling City's favourite Omega, leaves the offices of Queen Consolidated with his arms wrapped around his adopted children. With the Queen Omega are his Alpha sister, Thea, best friend Thomas Merlyn, and mother, Moira Queen._

 

_Shortly after lunch time, armed attackers stole the children from the office of Queen Consolidated CEO, and their adoptive grandfather, Walter Steele. Steele, who was injured in the attack, is said to be in a stable condition._

 

_While no official statement has yet been released by the Queen family, based on numerous reports from those inside, we have been able to piece together the following timeline._

 

_Arriving earlier than planned, Oliver Queen entered the building in an agitated state, making his way towards the CEO's office. There, he spoke briefly with his bodyguard, who had been knocked out in the attack, but was able to provide him with brief details._

 

_Queen then set out after the missing children, while his bodyguard rang the police._

 

_With emergency services on the scene, the area was secured and a search for the missing children was conducted, but no trace was found. The likely routes the kidnappers would have taken – down and out of the building showed no signs of them._

 

_Time moved on, with no ransom demands being forthcoming, and the tension inside the building mounting. The questions on everyone's minds being – who took the newest Queens? And why?_

 

_With no solid leads, the police then moved to conduct a room by room search of the entire building. In the process of which, they found Oliver Queen – with the children._

 

_The Omega, it is reported, was in a feral state – a rare state where an Omega's instincts take over, allowing them to act and deal with a threat, and most commonly occurring when their family, especially their children, are in danger._

 

_While the instances of omega's slipping into feral states have become almost non-existent in recent years, we've been assured that there is no doubt that Oliver Queen was indeed in this state._

 

_Queen was non-verbal, held himself bodily between the children and any others, and was aggressive towards any who approached._

 

_It is reported that the combined efforts of Thea Queen, Thomas Merlyn, and Oliver Queen's bodyguard, Mr Diggle, were able to draw Mr Queen from his feral state. A surprising feat as it is often only an Omega's Alpha who can draw them from a feral state in such a short amount of time._

 

_We can be thankful, however, for their success. For it appears clear that Oliver Queen's Alpha, whoever he is – if Mr Queen even has one – is out of the picture, as he has been since Mr Queen first returned with the children._

 

_As of yet, there have still been no ransom demands made and it remains unclear as to just why the children were kidnapped._

 

_We have been assured, however, that all the kidnappers are accounted for._

 

_*_

 

Elsewhere, in a small, bare, motel room, a man reached out, grabbing the remote and switching the television forcefully off. He breathed deeply, mind whirling as he tried to assimilate the new information.

 

His fist clenched around the remote, and he tossed it away before he damaged it.

 

He stood. There was somewhere he needed to be.

 

*


	10. Moira refuses

It was late evening by the time they all returned to the Manor. Oliver had yet to release his tight grasp on the children, who humoured him by staying close and refraining from complaining at his protectiveness. Despite all they had been through in their young lives, the kids were still somewhat shaken by had happened.

 

Pausing in the living room, Oliver turned to face his mother. “We need to talk,” he said. “But the kids need sleep.” He didn’t need to say that he would be staying with them that night – that went without saying considering how he had still to let them go.

 

“We can talk in the morning,” Moira offered. Oliver nodded, before turning to Diggle.

 

“Please ask Jones and Wright to ensure there’s a sufficient perimeter and then set-up outside my room.”

 

Dig nodded, understanding Oliver’s need to ensure the children were as protected as they possibly could be.

 

“There’s no need for that, Oliver,” Moira began.

 

The look he shut her cut her off abruptly.

 

“My children were _kidnapped_ ,” he hissed. “I am _not_ taking any chances.” Reaching down, Oliver lifted up Rose, who was drooping from all the shock and fear followed by the comfort of having Oliver hovering protectively over them. Wrapping her small arms around his neck, Rose hung on him like a limpet.

 

Oliver started towards the stairs.

 

“We’re staying, too,” Tommy said impulsively, sharing a glance with Thea, before hurrying after Oliver.

 

*

 

Prowling around his room, Oliver checked and double-checked his windows. Placing a few nasty traps along the sills for anyone who tried to enter that way. He was showing far more of his post-island self than he had so far, but he was taking no chances.

 

That done, he slipped into the bed, making sure he was closest to the door, and would be able to easily leap up to defend them should the need arise. His instincts were still raw and bubbling near the surface. While he was no longer feral, he knew that they wouldn’t settle down for some time.

 

It had been a while since he had been feral, but he still remembered what it had been like.

 

Having Tommy and Thea there as well helped to calm him somewhat. While he knew, logically, that neither was a great fighter, and may just get in his way if anything did happen, he also knew (his instincts practically screaming it at him), that both would protect the children with their lives.

 

Settling himself, reaching out to let his hand drift over each of the children in turn, reassuring them that he was there and they were safe, while keeping him free to move if he needed to, Oliver allowed his mind to drift as he slipped into the half-sleep Slade had taught him.

 

Not asleep, not entirely, yet not quite awake either. He would register any strange or suspicious noises, scents or sights, standing guard, but still be able to manage to get a fair amount of rest.

 

*

 

Oliver roused with the early morning sunlight, blinking as he let his eyes shift back into proper focus, glancing around the room to make sure nothing had been disturbed during the night.

 

At his back, the others slept on, the sounds of their breaths and heartbeats, along with their peaceful scents, calming his instincts further.

 

Pushing himself upright, Oliver slipped out of the bed, moving to begin his morning exercises. While he would usually head outside for a run as well, and not exercise where he could be seen by others, he knew that that would be impossible so soon after the kids had been threatened.

 

His instincts would not yet let him leave them alone (not that he wanted to), so he would simply have to make do with what exercises he could do in the room.

 

He had completed many a sit-up and push-up, and was using the window for some chin-ups (letting his body dangle outside as he gripped the stone edge of the top window-frame to haul himself up), when Thea woke.

 

Blinking, she glanced around with a frown, instantly noting the lack of Oliver in the bed, even as her senses told her that she could still smell him in the room.

 

When she saw Oliver hanging out the window, however, she let out a scream.

 

Instantly, Oliver flung himself through the window and into the room, landing in a defensive crouch by the bed, knife in hand.

 

Gasping, heart thudding harshly, Thea stared at him. “Ollie?” she asked.

 

Oliver turned to her, slowly relaxing as he realised there was no threat. “Are you all right?” he asked. “What happened?”

 

“What happened?” Thea hissed. “You were hanging out the window! What were you doing?”

 

“Chin-ups.”

 

“Chin-ups?”

 

Oliver shrugged. “I normally head outside first thing,” he explained, “but...” he shrugged, glancing at the kids in explanation. The kids who were stirring, roused by Thea’s scream.

 

“Ome?” Rose asked sleepily, blinking her eyes open as she stared up at Oliver.

 

“Hey,” he said, leaning down to brush a kiss over her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Hungry,” Rose said, pouting as her waking mind realised just how hungry she was. They hadn’t eaten dinner the night before, Oliver deciding the kids – who were dead on their feet – needed sleep more than food.

 

“We can fix that,” he assured her, before turning his attention to Joe. “Hey Joe,” he said, brushing the boy’s hair out of his face. Yawning, Joe lazily lifted his hands to sign his desire for food too. “Sure,” Oliver agreed with a chuckle.

 

Grant was pushing himself upright, eyes flitting over Oliver’s torso – having not really seen it before. He wasn’t the only one.

 

“Oliver,” Tommy said, his voice far more serious than Oliver had ever heard it before. He gestured towards Oliver’s chest. “What happened?” he asked, half-horrified, half-curious.

 

“What?” Thea asked. Catching a glimpse of the scars on Oliver, she gaped. “Ollie!” she cried, instinctively reaching out to touch him. Oliver flinched back, before forcing himself to halt, to let Thea’s hands trace over his skin. The scars. The burns. The tattoos she could see.

 

“I’m okay Thea,” he said softly, reaching up to grasp her hands and hold them in his own, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah,” he admitted, “it kinda sucked at the time, but I’m okay.”

 

“How did you survive?” she asked.

 

Oliver’s gaze went distant for a moment, obviously returning to that time. “Slade,” he said. Swallowing, he blinked, drawing himself back to the present and giving them all a reassuring smile.

 

Which was when the door opened, Moira stepping inside.

 

“Oliver?” she called as she entered. “Thea? Is everything okay?” As Oliver turned to face her, she froze, face paling as she took in the damage done to her son’s torso. A shaking hand rose to cover her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes. It was one thing for the doctor to tell her that Oliver had been injured. It was something else entirely to see the scars.

 

Shifting self-consciously, Oliver quickly reached over, grabbing his discarded shirt and pulling it on. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “It’s in the past. Besides, weren’t we going to get breakfast?”

 

*

 

Breakfast eaten, the kids comfortably ensconced in one of the sitting rooms, within sight of Oliver’s protective gaze, he allowed himself to let some of his concentration turn towards his mother.

 

“What do we know?” he asked.

 

Moira started, before sighing, leaning forward to take his hands in hers. “Not much,” she said. “There was no ransom demand made. Nothing said. No-one claimed responsibility.”

 

Oliver tilted his head to the side, considering her. “Nothing?” he asked. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, something he’d heard while he was feral – which unfortunately meant it wasn’t really that clear.

 

Moira shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “I wish I could help you more.”

 

“What do you think?” he asked.

 

“Think?”

 

“Why do you think someone would try to kidnap the kids?” He watched her closely, steadily drawing in her scent through his nose. There was something not right here. It didn’t help that his instincts hadn’t trusted her.

 

In fact, that fact was quite worrying. Just why would his instincts feel threatened by her? She was his mother. Yes, she’d argued about him looking after the kids, but his reaction while feral had been fiercer than that. Not a distant annoyance at her interference, but a current fear of what she might do. Or not do, he mused.

 

“I don’t know,” Moira said, turning teary eyes away. “I would say for the ransom, but none was demanded.” There was a hitch in her scent. Barely there, and he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t scenting so closely for it.

 

“Wasn’t there?” he asked.

 

Moira frowned, turning to face him. “Just what are you saying?”

 

Oliver stared at her, mind working as he struggled to pull together everything he knew, and try to make some sense of it amidst all he didn’t know. His instincts didn’t trust her. She was worried about the kids because of what happened to his father and himself – which suggested she didn’t think the _Gambit_ going down was an accident. She loved him and Thea, but refused to talk to them. She had received a phone-call while he was in a feral state. He didn’t know what was said – that was a blur, but he remembered that she had answered it.

 

Her son was in a feral state, having just rescued her grandchildren from kidnappers, and she had taken a phone call.

 

“You took a phone call,” he said.

 

“What?”

 

“Yesterday, while I was feral.” Moira flinched at his mention of his state. “You took a phone call.”

 

“I receive a lot of phone calls, Oliver,” she said. “I really don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

 

“You answered it,” he said, eyes boring into hers. “What did they want?”

 

“I don’t know what -”

 

“What did they want!” he demanded, fist hitting the table as frustration welled up within him. Moira jumped, startled by his reaction.

 

Oliver bared his teeth. “ _My children,_ ” he said, “were _kidnapped_. Why?”

 

“I don’t know -”

 

“You do.” Even as he said it, Oliver was sure that what he was saying was correct. He wasn’t entirely sure just how all the pieces fit together, yet, but his gut told him he had guessed right.

 

Moira stiffened, drawing back from him a bit. “I don’t appreciate your tone,” she scolded him, “or your insinuations.”

 

“And I don’t like having to make them,” Oliver replied. “But I _will_ protect my children. Even if I have to protect them from you.”

 

Moira’s breath drew in sharply as she stared at him. “Oliver,” she said, “I would never do anything to harm -”

 

“My instincts don’t trust you,” he cut her off, pain in his voice. “I went feral, and Thea and Tommy and Dig were safe – but you. You were a _threat_.”

 

“Oh Oliver,” she said, shaking her head as she reached for his hands once more. “We may never know why you saw me as a threat. The psychologist said it could be something as simple as my age.”

 

But Oliver was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “No, that wasn’t it.”

 

“Oliver -”

 

“You were a threat, Mom,” he said, drawing his hands away from hers, and pushing himself up to his feet as he drew a deep breath. There was a sharp pain in his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and reassure her that everything was okay. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He had to do this. Had to ask. Had to protect the kids. His kids. “I need you tell me,” he said.

 

“Tell you what?”

 

“Whatever it is you’re keeping secret.” He held up one hand to stop her when she went to speak. “Don’t deny it,” he said, “Thea and I both know you’re keeping secrets. And those secrets just got my kids kidnapped. I need to know what they are.”

 

“Don’t ask me that, Oliver,” she said with a shake of her head. “Please don’t ask me. I can’t tell you.”

 

“You need to.”

 

“I need to protect you!” she snapped.

 

Oliver let out a harsh laugh. “Protect me?” he asked. “Didn’t you notice, yesterday? I don’t need you to protect me!”

 

Moira pursed her lips, turning away.

 

With a growl, Oliver grabbed the bottom of his shirt, ripping it off and over his head. “Look,” he snarled, motioning towards his scars. “I. Can. Take. Care. Of. Myself.” he enunciated slowly. Before moving towards her beseechingly. “Talk to me.”

 

“I can’t.” Shaking her head, Moira stumbled back, away from him.

 

Oliver swallowed. “Mom,” he said, “I need to protect my kids. If you won’t talk, if you keep lying, then that makes you, and this house, dangerous.” She was shaking her head, staring wide-eyed at him. “Please,” he said.

 

“I need to protect you,” she repeated. “All of you.”

 

Oliver closed his eyes, pressing back the pain he felt. “Then we’ll need to leave,” he said.

 

Moira gasped, one hand reaching for him. “Oliver!” she cried.

 

He gave her a sad smile. “I need to protect my family, mom. I can’t do that here if you’re not willing to talk to me. If you keep lying to me.”

 

“You can’t leave.”

 

“I have to. I can’t put the kids in danger because you refuse to talk. Why won’t you tell me? Let me help you.”

 

Closing her eyes, Moira turned away. Clenching his fists at his sides, Oliver blinked back tears. But he stood by what he said. He couldn’t let her silence, or her lies, put his children in danger. “We’ll leave as soon as I secure somewhere safe for us to stay,” he said, turning to leave the room.

 

In the doorway he paused. “I’ve changed,” he said. “I know it’s hard for you to accept. And maybe I should try to talk more about what happened while I was away to try and help you understand. But I’ve changed. I’m not the child that left. I can take care of myself. And I will do _whatever_ is necessary to protect my family. Just, think about it. Please?”

 

When Moira made no reply, he left the room, heart breaking at her silence.

 

*

 

By evening, Oliver had a list of places he and the kids could possibly go. He felt agitated, off-balance. Wanting to get them out of the house as quickly as possible, while knowing he couldn’t move them yet. He had to make sure that wherever they went was secure.

 

Once more, he took the kids up to his room when it was bedtime (though without Tommy or Thea this time), tucking them into the bed and gently stroking through their hair as he told them a bedtime story.

 

Watching them drift off to sleep, Oliver let a soft smile cross his face. What he wouldn’t give to be able to share this with Slade.

 

Shaking off those thoughts, Oliver moved over to his desk, where he could both watch the children and get some work done.

 

A couple of hours later, he slipped into bed himself. Body relaxing into that half-asleep, guarding state he had had to learn so well on the island.

 

*

 

It was very early morning when the figure slipped into the room, easily manoeuvring over Oliver’s traps on the windows, while smirking in pride at the safe-guards the kid had set.

 

Slipping through the shadows towards the bed, he paused, just taking in the sight before him. Grant, Joe and a young girl who looked and smelt far too much like them to not be their sister, were curled up together, Grant protectively wrapped around the other two.

 

The kid was laying closest to the door, one arm reaching back to drape over the kids, touching them to know they were safe, while allowing him to jump up if he needed to. His eyes were half-lidded, on guard.

 

Moving closer, the man let his hand drop down to rest in the kid’s hair, letting the strands, so short now, slip between his fingers.

 

In his half-aware state, Oliver distantly noted an extra scent in the room. _Safe_ . His instincts murmured. _Protector. Safe._ Feeling the hand in his hair, Oliver stirred, shifting towards wakefullness.

 

Seeing the kid shift, the man grumbled softly in the back of his throat. A gentle rumble that had the kid going lax once more, slipping into a proper sleep. Trusting him to stand guard. While a smirk, a quick flash of white teeth in the dark, the man slipped onto the bed, positioning himself at the head, ready to protect them at a moment’s notice.

 

By Oliver, the kids who had stirred when he did, also sunk back into deep sleep. Ome was relaxed and happy, which meant they were safe. They barely registered the soft caress against their foreheads, scents of _safety_ and _family_ and _home_ all around them.

 

_Safe_ . Oliver’s instincts murmured, purring themselves in response to the soft rumble. He knew that sound. Knew it… _Safe. Protected. Sleep._

 

_Safe. Bonded._

 

_Sleep._

 

So he did.

 

 

 


	11. Oliver fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: for more violence in this one, folks.

Oliver woke feeling far better rested than he had in years. Stretching, he breathed in deeply, taking in the scents of the room. _Home._ _Safe._ _Family. Grant, Joe, Rose and Slade._

 

Blinking his eyes open, Oliver stared up at the ceiling – before jerking upright as he gazed frantically around the room.

 

He could smell  _**Slade!** _

 

Beside him, in the bed, Grant was wrapped around Joe and Rose.  The windows were closed, as was the door. The room empty of anyone else. He breathed in.

 

The head of the bed was heavy with Slade’s scent – as though he had sat or lain there for some time. A few hours at least. Shaking his head, Oliver pushed himself out of the bed and to his feet. There were faint traces of Slade near the window, suggesting that was how he had entered the room.

 

There w ere also faint traces leading out the door, into the rest of the mansion.

 

Shaking his head, Oliver hesitated, hand reaching out for the door handle. Was he going insane? Slade couldn’t have been in the room, could he? Slade was dead. Oliver had seen him die. There was no way he could have survived. Was there?

 

Swallowing, he turned the door handle, stepping out into the corridor.

 

“Dig,” he said, a soft smile crossing his face at the sight of his friend. “What are you doing here?” It was still early, and he hadn’t expected Dig for another few hours at least. The sun had not yet risen.

 

“You’re not the only one worried about those kids,” Dig replied, nodding towards the door Oliver had shut behind him.

 

Oliver nodded. This would work nicely. “Can you keep an eye on them for me?” he asked. He didn’t want to say anything about Slade to Diggle yet – not only was he worried that  he was imagining things, or going insane – but he also wanted to make sure Dig stayed with the kids, to give him time to try and figure out what was going on, without having to worry about anyone else.

 

Dig nodded. “Of course,” he agreed, slipping into the room behind Oliver.

 

Closing his eyes, Oliver breathed deeply, before turning and following Slade’s scent down the hallway.

 

*

 

He ended up on the ground floor,  staring out at the heavy darkness of very early morning. The house was silent, asleep. But Slade had stood in this room. Unless Oliver was losing control of his senses, which was something he didn’t really want to consider. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he couldn’t trust them. 

 

B ut if Slade  _ was _ alive, why hadn’t he come for Oliver before now? Why hadn’t he stayed in the bedroom? 

 

There was a flicker of movement. One of the windows near Oliver smashed in as a dark figure crashed inside. Spinning, Oliver lashed out, flat of his hand catching the intruder in the throat. The man sank to the ground. But he wasn’t the only one.

 

Around Oliver, more men in black crashed into the mansion through the windows, shards of glass flying throughout the room.

 

Snarling, Oliver snatched the gun from the fallen intruder’s hands, twisting to drive his shoulder into an oncoming attacker, while firing the weapon. Opposite him, a man in black jerked backwards, the back of his head spraying out behind him.

 

There was the _shick_ of a blade being drawn. Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw another intruder fall.

 

Turning, instinctively placing his back towards that part of the room, Oliver fired the gun three times in succession, watching three more intruders fall. His senses were on high alert, cataloguing everything in the room, and outside it.

 

Five attackers left alive. Two by the windows, two to his back, and one coming at him. More outside the room in the rest of the house. One ally in the room with him.

 

Dropping to the floor to avoid a spray of bullets, Oliver fired back at the intruder approaching him, before twisting, laying down covering fire on instinct alone. In response, the other man, the one his instincts accepted without question, without thought (if he wasn’t fighting for his life, Oliver had the feeling there would be a lot of thought going into things, but he was, so it was all instinct and reaction and no room to freak out over the seamless way he moved with the other man), sliced the throat of one intruder, while stabbing another as he ducked.

 

Spinning back around, Oliver fired again, catching his approaching intruder in the neck. Rolling, he manoeuvred himself closer to his ally. Instinct pushing him to rise up at the other man’s back, facing away from him.

 

Back to back they took in the room. There were two intruders left, by the windows. They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.

 

Turning side-on, Oliver fired at the intruders, causing them to duck. At the same time, his ally leapt forward, amidst his bullets, sword easily sliding through one intruder’s neck, while kicking the other into Oliver’s line of fire.

 

Both intruders slumped to the floor.

 

Breathing deep, Oliver drew air through his nose, scenting it. They were the only two left alive in the room. But there were other intruders in the house.

 

He listened. The creak of footsteps. Soft breaths of others. His head snapped to the side, studying the night outside the broken windows. And more outside.

 

There was the sour scent of agitation, frustration and fear on the air. Somehow, those outside feared things weren’t going well.

 

A cannister flew through the window, thumping down onto the ground. Footsteps headed towards the stairs. Oliver’s eyes met those of his ally. They moved as one.

 

Smoke poured from the cannister, quickly filling the room. Multiple _thuds_ and _hisses_ suggested there were more cannisters being thrown into the house.

 

Racing towards the doorway, Oliver held his left hand out to his side, refusing to flinch at the sharp sting of a blade slicing into his skin. The pain rushed through him, giving him something to focus on as the gas threatened to fog his mind. Pain was cleansing.

 

He knew without looking that his companion had cut himself as well. They had no time to stop and find something to block the gas with, already intruders were on the stairs. They kids were up there. They had to get to them.

 

Side by side, they took the stairs, Oliver driving his shoulder into an intruder’s stomach and tossing him over the railing to the floor below, his companion fluidly slicing the head off another.

 

There were shouts from up ahead, gunfire.

 

Pushing himself faster, Oliver grabbed an intruder as he rounded the corner of the stairs, tossing him back towards his companion, not needing to look to know the intruder had met his death.

 

Reaching the top of the stairs, Oliver raced towards the bedrooms. Two intruders came from his right, and he spun, lashing out without restraint. He felt one of the intruder’s arms break beneath his first strike, nose crunching beneath his second as he drove the shards up and towards the man’s brain. He could feel himself drifting towards that feral state he had been in not long ago, all instinct and the desire to protect his children, but the solid presence at his back kept him grounded.

 

Twisting to face the second intruder, Oliver knocked his gun out of the way, head tilting to the side instinctively, allowing the blade to pass harmlessly by his head, before it impaled itself in the intruder’s neck.

 

Reaching out, Oliver grasped hold of the hilt, tossing the sword back over his shoulder without looking, already running down the hallway.

 

There were bodies in the hallway, Dig standing guard by the bedroom door, panting. He nodded at Oliver, eyebrows and gun rising at the sight of Oliver’s companion. But Oliver waved his hand, ordering Dig to stand down.

 

Frowning, Dig did so, stepping to the side as Oliver dashed past him and into the room.

 

“Ome!” Rose cried, eyes wide in her face where Grant stood with her and Joe, holding her back. With a glance, Oliver noted with approval that Grant had chivvied them into shoes and jackets. He nodded at the young teen. Swallowing, face tense, Grant nodded back at him.

 

Thea and Tommy were also in the room, pale-faced but determined. Moving over to the window, Oliver pushed it open, being careful not to set off any of the traps he had placed, while leaning over and peering out.

 

The early morning was dark, the horizon not yet touched with grey. There was some movement on the grounds, but no-one was looking up.

 

“Scent,” a gruff voice demanded.

 

Turning, Oliver nodded. “Ten,” he replied, “inside. More outside.”

 

His companion nodded in return.

 

Twisting, Oliver slipped out the window, balancing carefully and turning back to look inside.

 

“Grant,” he said, jerking his head to motion him forward.

 

Nodding, Grant stumbled forward, bringing Joe and Rose with him. Oliver’s companion moved forward, reaching out to help Grant make it out the window and over the traps, handing him to Oliver, before reaching for Joe and passing him out as well. Rose came next, her brothers drawing her close to them, as Grant pulled them over onto a small, flat section of roof nearby.

 

“Thea,” Oliver called.

 

Shaking, but determined, she came forward, allowing the stranger to pass her out to her brother, soon joined by Tommy, then Dig.

 

As soon as Dig was out, Oliver was moving once more. Turning, he leapt out over empty space, arm snapping out to grasp hold of an outcropping ugly piece of stonework, propelling himself back towards the roof and ahead of them, landing just before the kids.

 

“Follow me,” he said, before beginning to pick his way across the roof. They followed.

 

Reaching a wall, Oliver shimmied up it easily, turning back to reach down and hoist Grant, then Joe and Rose up after him.

 

*

 

Being lifting easily upwards by the stranger, Thea shivered, staring out at the night. She wasn’t sure what was going on. She had woken to the sounds of glass breaking, then gunfire. Terrified, she’d raced for Ollie’s room, hoping he’d be there and able to tell her what to do, and also terrified that whoever was attacking was after the kids once more.

 

She’d met Tommy by Ollie’s door, Dig ushering them both inside while standing guard.

 

When Oliver entered, she wanted to rush to him, to get him to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. But he was focused, moving swiftly through the room, and she instinctively knew to simply follow his orders.

 

The stranger confused her, but Oliver wasn’t complaining, nor were any of the others, so she kept her mouth shut and simply accepted it.

 

She hadn’t expected to end up on the roof of their mansion – but she trusted that Ollie knew what he was doing. He had to, didn’t he?

 

Across and up Oliver led them. The tallest tower, Thea realised. Ollie was leading them there. Why? They wouldn’t be able to get down from it – it was locked from below. A hold-over from when she and Ollie had used to try and hide up in there as children whenever they wanted to get away from their parents.

 

Plus, their mother hated heights, so it had been locked to keep them out, and stop her fears of her children managing to fall to their deaths.

 

Scaling the wall of the tower as easily as he had moved over the rest of the walls and roof (Thea admitted, if only to herself, that she was slightly jealous of Oliver’s ease in doing so), Oliver reached out, smashing one of the tower’s windows, before slipping inside.

 

She saw him brushed away the glass, before poking his head back out.

 

The stranger climbed halfway up the tower, anchoring himself with one hand, before reaching down with the other. Grant handed Joe up to him, who he proceeded to pass up to Ollie, before repeating the process with Rose, and then finally Grant.

 

“Come on,” Dig told her, nudging Thea forward. Nodding, she stepped forward, reaching out for the stranger’s hands. There was a strength in the grasp that spoke of confidence and ability, leaving Thea feeling both reassured and wary. Reassured that whoever he was, he was helping them. And wary of just what he could do.

  
Then Ollie was grabbing hold of her, pulling her up and into the tower. Moments later, they were all inside.

 

“Ollie?” Thea asked.

 

“You’ll be safe here,” he replied. Reaching out to pass his hands over the kid’s heads, reassuring both them and himself as he did so. The stranger stepped up behind him, a low rumble coming from him that suggested he was an Alpha.

 

Ollie and the stranger locked gazes. It looked almost as though they were having some kind of conversation simply with their eyes. The stranger unslung a rifle from his back – she suspected it was a sniper rifle of some kind. He held it out towards Ollie.

 

Ollie shook his head, pushing it back towards the stranger. “I know the house better,” he said. Then he grinned. “You deal with your ten, and I’ll deal with my one.” A wry smile quirked his lips, somewhere between the carefree, playboy Ollie they’d lost, and the serious, responsible one that had returned to them and chosen to be a parent.

 

The stranger snorted. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.

 

“Nah,” Ollie replied with a grin, “I save that for you.” The smile dropped from his face, eyes going serious as he opened his mouth. Then closed it, determination stealing over his features.

 

Stepping forward, he grasped hold of the stranger’s vest, jerking him towards himself, crashing their lips together. The kiss was harsh, and all-to-brief, but Thea felt like she was watching something incredibly charged and intensely private.

 

Slowly, Ollie stepped back, his lips clinging to the stranger’s for a moment before letting go. With a nod, he accepted the large knife the stranger pressed into his hands, turned, slipped out the window, and away.

 

Slinging the rifle back over his back, the stranger turned to face them, gaze tracing over each of them. “I’ll be on the roof,” he said. “No-one will get you here.” He didn’t need to say ‘I promise’, Thea clearly heard the sentiment in his tone.

 

Then he, too, left out of the window.

 

Dig ushered them away from the window, up against a wall where they were out of line-of-sight of any of the windows. Huddled together, pressed up against the kids, Thea tried to sooth them as best she could when she herself felt so shaken.

 

Rose shifted, turning to look up at Grant.

 

“Was that dad?” she asked, voice a hushed, awed, whisper.

 

Thea started. Wasn’t the children’s father dead?

 

Grant nodded. “Yeah,” he said, voice rasping in his throat.

 

“Why didn’t he stay?” Rose asked. “Why didn’t he hug us?” The ‘me’, the ‘does he know who I am’, hung unspoken in the air.

 

“He’s protecting us,” Grant said, swallowing, and nodding towards the roof. “And I think if he had stopped to hug us, he wouldn’t have wanted to let go.”

 

*

 

On the roof above them, Slade settled in, bringing his sniper rifle up to bear as he swept his gaze across the grounds. His blood pounded through his veins, every sense heightened, every instinct on high alert and screaming out for him to _protect_!

 

Licking his lips, Slade focused, finger pressing down on the trigger as the taste of his Omega burst once more across his tongue.

 

He had a family to protect.


	12. Clearing House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: for more violence in this one.  
> You may have noticed that I've upped the rating on this fic - the reason being the violence in the last few chapters (including this one).
> 
> (but it's not all violence - and the next chapter should be so much fluffier!)

The alarm woke Moira.

 

Jerking upright, she fumbled blearily for her phone, blinking as she stared at the alert. The silent alarm at the house was going off. Someone was attacking her family.

 

Face paling, stumbling to her feet, Moira’s gaze darted back to the hospital bed. Walter lay there, eyes closed and face relaxed, sleeping. She didn’t want to disturb him, particularly not when he would only worry and want to rush back to the house with her. But she also didn’t want to leave him alone.

 

Her husband had been injured – and yes, he would be fine to leave the hospital in the morning (it was already morning, although not quite a ‘civilised’ hour), but that didn’t change the fact that he had suffered a severe concussion – the doctors said it would be likely he’d still feel the effects of it for months.

 

She didn’t want anyone to hurt Walter again.

 

She also didn’t want to think about what could be happening to her children, or grandchildren, at that very moment.

 

She had no doubt as to why the alarm had gone off at the house. As to who was behind it.

 

Malcolm Merlyn had tried to have her grandchildren kidnapped. She doubted he had been happy to have Oliver’s slip into a feral state derail his plans.

 

He would attack again – harder than before.

 

Closing her eyes as she drew a deep breath, steeling herself, Moira turned, slipping out of the room. She motioned Jones over, quickly instructing him to make absolutely sure only hospital staff entered Walter’s room, before striding down the corridor.

 

She would protect her family – whatever it took.

 

*

 

Moving quickly along the roof of the house, Oliver slipped back into his room, closing the window behind him. There was no reason to leave any clue as to where they’d taken the kids.

 

Padding across the room silently, knife held so that the blade was angled back along his forearm, he moved to the door, listening and scenting carefully, before easing it open.

 

Clouds of gas still lingered throughout the house, drifting up from the ground floor. From what he could tell, Oliver suspected that the rest of their guards had succumbed to the gas, their scents muted, unmoving, as though unconscious or unwell. Shifting his left hand, Oliver dug his fingers into the cut, letting the fresh stab of pain help clear his mind.

 

He breathed deep, drawing in the scents of those around him. Including the scent of Slade. His Alpha.

 

Oliver grinned. Sharp teeth and the knowledge of success. He would win. Not only because he was protecting his children – so there was no other choice. But also because he was fighting with Slade – and they always won.

 

*

 

Staring through the sight of his sniper rifle, Slade breathed out slowly, scanning the grounds around the mansion.

 

Men in black moved slowly across the grass, almost invisible in the dark of the night. They were mostly congregated around the rear of the house, although some had begun to move along the sides in order to surround it.

 

Movement at the edges of the trees lining the boundary of the lawn behind the house suggested that was where they had launched their attack from.

 

Moving the scope to focus on the man closest to the house, Slade pulled the trigger.

 

The man fell.

 

There was a hush, a pause, as those closest to the man stared about themselves, looking for their attacker.

 

Grinning, Slade repositioned his rifle.

 

He fired.

 

*

 

Slipping down the hallway, Oliver carefully cleared each room as he went. There was no reason to allow anyone to sneak up behind him.

 

Reaching Thea’s room, he paused, scenting the air.

 

There was someone inside.

 

Listening intently, Oliver pressed up against the door, waiting.

 

There was a crash – whoever was inside was not pleased to find the room empty.

 

Oliver darted inside. He rolled, making himself a smaller target, and lower down than expected. The intruder spun, cursing and firing his weapon.

 

The bullets flew harmlessly above Oliver’s head.

 

Getting his feet beneath him as he reached the intruder, Oliver flung himself upwards, blade snapping out to swipe over the man’s neck.

 

With a gurgle, the man fell to the ground.

 

*

 

Dropping another man, Slade shifted, picking off two who had almost reached the front of the house. No reason to let them surround it.

 

He moved to the other side, taking out a third.

 

*

 

Assured that the intruder was dead, Oliver slipped quietly out of Thea’s room, continuing down the hall. One man down. Nine to go.

 

He wondered, briefly, and distantly, his focus firmly held by the situation he was in, how Slade was going.

 

He was sure the man had already killed far more than Oliver’s one.

 

*

 

Huddled in the room at the top of the tallest tower, Thea wondered if this was how Rapunzel had felt. Or Sleeping Beauty. Anyone really.

 

She hated feeling so helpless. As though she needed to be protected. She wanted to be out there, helping Oliver and the stranger, fighting to protect her home.

 

Instead, she was trapped in the tower like a princess, hearing the sounds of the dragon roaring outside.

 

“Hey,” Tommy said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “He’ll be fine.”

 

Biting her lip, Thea nodded, hands occupied with stroking through Rose and Joe’s hair. “I know,” she said. That wasn’t the problem. Having seen Ollie’s reaction to the kids getting kidnapped (she hadn’t seen what he’d done to the men who’d taken them, but she’d heard the whispers between some of the officers and her mother – from what they said, it hadn’t been pretty), she wasn’t worried about Ollie.

 

That didn’t mean she liked feeling helpless.

 

Catching Grant’s eye, she knew that he felt the same. Giving him a small smile, she drew Rose and Joe closer to her, jerking her eyes from Grant to them.

 

She and Grant may not be trusted to be out there, fighting, but they had been left to help protect the others.

 

And they would do so.

 

*

 

Driving through the large gates that closed the mansion off from the outside world, Moira stared out the front window of the car, watching for anything that was amiss.

 

The mansion sat dark and silent, no lights shining forth. Behind her, she knew, a number of police cars followed, also alerted by the silent alarm.

 

It looked so ordinary.

 

Suddenly, a figured appeared around the corner of the house, barely visible as the first tinges of grey began to touch the distant horizon. Dressed all in black, the man appeared geared up for an attack.

 

He stepped forward.

 

Then slumped to the ground.

 

Moira frowned.

 

*

 

Reaching the ground floor, Oliver dug his fingers harder into his cut. A lot of the gas had escaped out the broken windows, but there was still enough left that he didn’t want to risk having it cloud his thoughts or senses.

 

He’d left six bodies behind him, leaving four unaccounted for.

 

Scenting the air as best he could amidst the gas, Oliver tracked them down. Two by the back door. Two by the front. Blocking the exits.

 

He’d deal with those at the back first.

 

*

 

“Stay here!” one of the officers demanded, pushing Moira back as she moved towards the front of the house.

 

Moira scowled. “This is my house -” she began.

 

“And the alarm went off,” the officer snapped in reply. He turned to her driver. “Don’t let her get any closer,” he said.

 

*

 

Letting the second body drop to the floor, Oliver peered out through the back windows at the darkened lawn. He could see the barest hints of grey starting to appear in the sky, but it was still quite dark.

 

There.

 

The movement of a figure dressed in black, heading towards the house.

 

The figure slumped.

 

Oliver smirked.

 

*

 

Watching the cars arrive, Slade wondered just how much trouble the newcomers would be. Oh, he knew that most of them were police, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have the capacity to make things worse (he also knew he was being rather derogatory, but, not being one to overly care about that in the best of circumstances, he found no reason to be care how critical he was when already worried, annoyed, frustrated and furious about the danger his family was in).

 

Squeezing the trigger, he watched another attacker fall.

 

*

 

Pacing, Moira stared at the house. It was hard to see well in the pre-dawn light, but she was sure she had seen at least one figure fall to the ground.

 

Why had they fallen? Was it a ruse? Had someone attacked them? Were they friend or foe?

 

Spinning on her heel, she strode towards the house.

 

Someone called out after her, but she ignored them, panic clawing at her gut. She had to get to her children. Her grandchildren. Had to see them for herself. To see that they were all right.

 

*

 

Stepping carefully over Wright, one of the Queen’s security guards, slumped unconscious in the entryway, Oliver made he way towards the front doors. The two intruders weren’t watching him, but rather peering out through the windows at the front lawn.

 

Stepping up behind the one closest to him, Oliver reached out, drawing his blade smoothly across their throat. The man slumped towards the ground.

 

The other man must have heard something, as he turned, gas mask glinting as he stepped towards Oliver, lifting his gun.

 

Darting forward, Oliver didn’t give the man a chance to finish raising his weapon, lashing out in a forward-strike with his blade held before him. It sunk into the man’s jugular.

 

At the same time, the front door swung open, and Oliver turned, knife wrenching from the man’s throat; the intruder falling to the ground, dead.

 

His eyes met those of his mother’s.

 

*

 

Flinging the door open, Moira gaped as she saw Oliver – her Oliver – turn towards her. There was a knife in his hand, coated in blood. Just past him, she saw a man drop towards the ground, blood gushing from his throat.

 

There was another man nearby, throat also cut.

 

Unconsciously, her hand raised towards her heart.

 

“Mrs Queen!” Someone grabbed hold of her arm, wrenching her backwards. Moira stumbled, but refused to take her eyes from her son.

 

“Mom?” Oliver asked.

 

The officer tugging on her arm paused, taking him in. There was a soft sound of surprise as they caught sight of the bodies.

 

Things moved swiftly after that, or perhaps it was simply that, to Moira, it seemed as though they did.

 

Officers swarmed forward, moving around and through the house, before declaring it ‘clear’. Questions were asked – the attack obviously being not only large and coordinated, but also well-funded, and somehow thwarted.

 

Someone had found her a shock blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders, even as Oliver – her Oliver – refused one, saying he was fine (he wasn’t _fine_ , he was covered in blood. How could he be _fine_?).

 

At first Moira thought perhaps Oliver had slipped into a feral state once more, but he was entirely coherent and she heard h im speaking to some of the officers.

 

She wondered where  the others were.

 

Thea. Her grandchildren.

 

They hadn’t managed to get them? Had they?

 

Then Oliver was giving her hands a squeeze, before turning and heading deeper into the house. Moira followed him, not sure what else she could do, and distantly aware that she had slipped into shock.

 

He led them to the stairs leading up to the tallest tower. The trap-door into the top room was locked, she knew. She’d had it locked. Years ago. To stop Oliver and Thea hiding up there. And for her own peace of mind – she had always worried they’d find a way to fall from the tower.

 

So why was Oliver leading them that way?

 

Reaching out, Oliver knocked on the bottom of the trap-door. A sharp series of knocks that brought a distant memory to her mind. Of a time, before the  _Gambit_ , when Oliver had annoyed Thea by always knocking on her door like that.

 

There was a pause, then,

 

“Ollie?” Thea. It was Thea’s voice!

 

“Hey,” he replied. “I’m gonna break the trap-door, okay? Stay back.”

 

There were sounds of movement, shuffling. “Okay,” Thea called.

 

Oliver – her Oliver – broke the trap-door. Ramming his fists up against it a few times until it splintered, pulling the pieces away  until the hole was clear.

 

Moments later, Thea was peer ing down at them. Moira wanted to rush to her, to gather her daughter up in her arms and assure herse l f that she was all right.

 

But the n Thea moved back, and Joe was being lowered through the trap-door. Oliver caught him, carefully placing him on the ground, before helping down Rose, Grant, Thea, Tommy and finally Dig. 

 

With everyone down, Oliver turned to the kids, gathering them in close and running his hands over them, checking them over for injuries.

 

“You’re okay,” he said to them, over and over, “you’re okay.”

 

There was a  _thump_ .

 

Turning, Moira saw another man, a strange man, crouched beneath the trap-door, as though he’d just jumped down through it.

 

She half-expected Oliver to turn and attack the man. Produce a knife and gut him or something. But Oliver simply turned, a smile –  a real, true smile –  b rightening his face as his eyes fell on the man.

 

“Slade,” he said.

  
The name tickled something at the back of Moira’s mind. Perhaps, if she wasn’t in shock, she’d be able to remember where she’d heard the name before.

 

“Oliver,” the man replied. His voice was gravelly, rough, with a hint of an accent even in that one word.

 

The man stepped forward, Oliver turning – along with the kids – to face him.

 

The man stumbled to his knees  before them, arms reaching out. His mouth moved, as though he wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite find the words.

 

With a sob, Joe flung himself forward, taking Rose, who was grasping his hand tightly, with him. Behind them, Oliver pressed forward,  pushing Grant  before him, until they were all gathered up in a desperate hug, Oliver and the stranger’s arms wrapped around the kids.

 

Breathing deep, Oliver leant forward, his forehead resting against the stranger’s, arms tightening.

 

And Moira realised she was looking at her son’s family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, lucky you, you get this chapter much quicker than they've been coming for a while. For some reason the muse, after being reluctant for a while, has grasped hold of this fic once more.  
> So, no promises, but it's possible the updates will keep coming quicker. ;) Particularly as the muse is happily informing me of *all the fluff* that needs to follow these fight scenes.


	13. family reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, profuse apologies for how long this took to get out. I couldn't quite believe it when I looked at my last post date. My aim is to not leave it that long again. But hopefully this is somewhat worth the wait.

They stayed huddled together, their little family, for some time. Oliver could not have said how much time had passed, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had his arms around his kids – who were safe – and Slade was there, sharing the same breath as him.

 

“You’re alive,” Oliver murmured finally, slowly drawing back so that he could look at Slade. Trace his eyes over those familiar – and loved – features.

 

Behind them, Moira cleared her throat. “Are you going to introduce us, Oliver?” she asked.

 

But Oliver only had eyes for his Alpha in that moment.

 

“Yeah,” Slade replied, voice rumbling comfortingly, “I’m alive.”

 

Oliver laughed, smiling as he stared at Slade. “You’re really here.”

 

“I am.”

 

Hands stroking comfortingly over the kid’s heads, Slade took half a step back so that he could look at them all. His eyes dampened as he stared at Grant, awe lighting in them as his gaze moved to Rose. “And so are all of you,” he said.

 

Grant scoffed, causing Oliver to reach out and scuff the back of his head.

 

Moira cleared her throat once more.

 

Rolling his eyes – which cause Slade to give him a _look_ – Oliver half-turned in order to face his mother. 

 

“Mom,” he said, “this is Slade Wilson, my Alpha. Slade, my mother, Moira Queen, sister, Thea, and this is Digg.”

 

Slade nodded to each in turn as the introductions were made. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

 

Reaching out, Oliver ran his hand over Rose’s head. “This is Rose,” he continued. “Rose, this is your father.”

 

Blinking back tears of happiness, Rose stared up at Slade, a smile trembling on her lips. “Hey,” she whispered.

 

“Hey,” Slade murmured back.

 

“Well,” said Moira, “should we move this somewhere more civilised?” She gave the broken trapdoor a scornful look.

 

*

 

They ended up in one of the many sitting rooms, Oliver gently pushing and pulling until he had Slade situated in the middle of a couch, Grant on one side of him, Joe on the other, and Rose in his lap.

 

Slade watched somewhat bemusedly as Oliver piled the kids on top of him, a constant grin refusing to leave his face – not only at the way his Omega was acting, but also at the fact that he had his children, safe, with him once more.

 

Slipping onto the couch beside Joe, Oliver reached over, enveloping them all in his arms. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing kisses into their hair.

 

“Sap,” Slade said, arms tightening around his family. “I love you, too, all of you.”

 

There was a click.

 

Glancing up, Oliver pouted at Thea, who simply smiled back at him, putting her phone back into her pajamas pocket. “Don’t worry, bro,” she said, “you look adorable.”

 

Grant snorted.

 

Oliver pinched his arm lightly.

 

Breathing deep, Oliver revelled in the scents of family that surrounded him. Slade, Grant, Joe, Rose, they were all there. All safe.

 

Turning his head, he nuzzled into Slade’s neck, breathing deep of the Alpha’s scent. It was a scent he had missed greatly for far too long.

 

*

 

Watching the family gathered on the couch, Moira felt her heart clench. She wasn’t sure what to do. Nervous anxiety washed through her and she glanced around the room. They’d chosen a room without windows, and one which didn’t have any bodies in it. Thankfully.

 

She shuddered in memory of Oliver wrenching a knife from a man’s throat. What exactly had happened to him on that island? she wondered. It was one thing for a doctor to tell her that he’d returned with scars, or even to see them, but it was something entirely different to see him fight.

 

Not to mention the way he was with the children. Children she had tried hard not to become attached to, but was quickly realising she would do anything for – just as she would for her own children.

 

And that was dangerous. Dangerous enough that already Malcolm had tried to use them against her.

 

Biting her lip, Moira wondered what his next move would be. He obviously hadn’t liked being thwarted in his kidnapping attempt – not if he was willing to send such a large group against them. But that group had also been stopped, so what would he do next?

 

*

 

Slipping onto the end of the couch beside Ollie, Thea leant her head against his shoulder, feeling herself fully relax in the comforting waves of scent coming from him. She smiled softly, her brother smelt entirely like a content, happy, Omega, surrounded by family.

 

“You know,” she said, “you’re going to have to explain things later.”

 

Oliver hummed in reply, but didn’t move from where he was wrapped around his Alpha and children. Thea figured she could give him a bit of a break.

 

Turning her head, she grinned as she watched Slade – Ollie’s Alpha! - stroke his hands over and over those around him. Smoothing back hair and shifting the children closer to him. Scent-marking, she realised. He was ensuring his children – and Oliver, who was pressing into the contact – were covered in his scent.

 

Grant, Thea noticed, sat a little apart, as though not quite sure if he should relax into his father’s hold or not. Most likely because he was worried about Slade being taken away from them again, she figured. After all, whenever Grant spoke about his father, it had been with pride and love, but she figured that all those years having to fend for himself, and Rose, had made it hard for Grant to fully relax or accept comfort.

 

*

 

Stepping into the room, Detective Simms felt a smile crossing her face. Having seen the aftermath of Queen’s feral state, only to hear that there had been an attack at his house, she’d been worried about what she’d find.

 

But, the Queen heir seemed to be doing well. Although she was curious as to who the Alpha with him was.

 

She cleared her throat.

 

Moira Queen turned to look at her, blinking for a moment, before her face smoothed out and she spoke. “Detective Simms,” Moira said. “How can we help you?”

 

Oliver looked up, eyes focusing in on the detective. He felt like he should know her, though he couldn’t quite place where he’d seen her before. Perhaps she’d been one of those around after his feral episode. That time was still a little hazy.

 

“Mrs Queen,” Simms replied, “I apologise for intruding, but I’m afraid we will need to ask you and your family some questions.” She moved into the room, Detective Po following her.

 

“Please,” Moira said, gesturing to the couch opposite the one being used for a family reunion, “have a seat.”

 

“Thank you.” Taking a breath, Simms surveyed the family. “I’m sorry to have to ask,” she said, “but we need to know what happened here tonight.”

 

That was something that Moira also wanted to know, her gaze shooting to her children. “I wasn’t here,” she said. “My husband, Walter, is in the hospital. I was with him.”

 

Simms nodded. “And you, Mr Queen?” she asked. “You were here?”

 

“I was,” Oliver admitted, pulling his head out of Slade’s neck enough that he could turn slightly in order to talk to her.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I woke early,” Oliver said. “Went downstairs. I…” he let his voice trail off. “Men broke into the house, through the windows,” he said. “They were dressed all in black, and moved to attack me, I -” he shook his head, giving a short humourless laugh.

 

Reaching out, Slade grasped hold of Oliver’s hand, twining their fingers together.

 

Simms frowned. “You reacted,” she said. “Did you slip into another feral state?”

 

“Really -” began Moira, but Simms held up a hand, cutting her off.

 

“It isn’t unheard of,” she said, “especially considering how soon this incident is after the last one.” Her eyes studied Oliver carefully.

 

“Something like that,” he admitted, shifting in place as though embarrassed. “I knew I had to protect the kids.”

 

And so she drew the story out of them – highly edited, of course. Oliver was the Omega parent who reacted on instinct, still on the edges of being feral after the children were kidnapped. Slade was the Alpha father who had thought his Omega and children dead, but, having seen them on the news, had come as fast as he could, arriving in time to lend aid in pushing back their attackers.

 

It was, in many ways, an open and shut case. Oliver and Slade had acted in self-defense, and defense of their children. Neither of those things would be questioned.

 

If their ability to subdue the attackers was somewhat surprising – well, everyone knew that a feral Omega could do a lot of damage, and Slade claimed to be ex-military. It all fit.

 

Thanking them, Simms stood, watching silently for a moment. There was something more, she was sure of it, but she was also sure that they’d told her the truth, insomuch as they’d told her anything.

 

Nodding, she swiftly left the room. Outside, the sun was rising.

 

*

 

With the police gone, the bodies removed, and their unconscious security taken to hospital, Moira felt somewhat adrift. She would have to pull herself together, she knew, decide on a course of action. Something to ensure that Malcolm never tried anything like this ever again.

 

There was broken glass across many of the floors, blood in places she’d never thought to see it, and whenever she closed her eyes she could still see Oliver wrenching that knife from the man’s neck.

 

Opening her mouth, she went to ask for an explanation, to demand answers – but Joe’s moving fingers stopped her.

 

“You’re right,” Oliver agreed softly, ruffling Joe’s hair. “It would be good to get some more sleep.” He glanced up at Slade – and that, that was the youngest Moira had seen him look since he’d returned from the island. Returned so cold and closed off and old in a way he hadn’t been when he’d left. But the boyish grin twitching at the corners of his lips, the wide, pleading eyes, those made him look suddenly younger.

 

“I suppose we could,” Slade agreed with a sigh, as though they were asking something incredibly taxing of him.

 

“Great,” Oliver replied, springing up to his feet. He turned to Moira. “Do we need to go somewhere else?” he asked.

 

Everyone froze.

 

Suddenly conscious that they were all paying intent attention to her, Moira cleared her throat, before shaking her head. “No,” she said. “Whoever it was, I doubt they’d be able to try anything again just yet. Besides, I’ve got security walking a perimeter outside as well as guarding all the broken windows and doors. The police also left a few cars out the front.”

 

Oliver nodded, glancing over at Slade. When the other man also nodded, Oliver grinned, reaching out to tug Joe up towards him. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

 

*

 

They wandered up to Oliver’s room, Rose half-asleep where she was snuggled in her father’s arms. Placing Rose gently on the edge of the bed, Slade carefully removed her jacket and shoes, Oliver watching, feeling impossibly happy simply to know that Slade was alive. And there. With them.

 

Large hands infinitely gentle, Slade tucked Rose into the bed, ignoring Grant’s scowl as he smoothed the covers over the son he’d thought he’d lost so long ago. Besides, despite the scowl, Grant pressed back into Slade’s touch, allowing fingers to run through his hair and brush his fringe back from his face.

 

Tugging Joe’s shoes off, while the young boy struggled out of his jacket, Oliver then helped him into the bed with his siblings.

 

“Do you mind?” Thea asked hesitantly, moving towards them.

 

Oliver glanced up at her with a smile. “Of course,” he said, motioning her towards the bed. Shooting a quick look at Slade – who gave her a nod – Thea grinned, hurrying forward to join the others under the covers.

 

“Well, if Thea gets to join in,” Tommy said, moving after her.

 

Oliver rolled his eyes, but grinned. Automatically, he want to lie at the edge of the bed, closest to the door. But Slade was there, pushing Oliver back, so that Slade could take the edge, protecting them all.

 

“I’ll be right outside,” Dig said, eyes warm with happiness for his friend.

 

“Thanks Dig,” Oliver muttered.

 

The adrenalin of the fight had worn off, and he was surrounded by the scent of family, so much so that it was becoming hard to think of anything other than simply basking in the scent and feel of having his family around him, safe.

 

Wriggling onto his side, so that his back was pressed up against Slade’s, his arm flung out over the kids, assuring himself that they were all fine, Oliver hummed in contentment.

 

Pressing back against the warmth of his Omega behind him, Slade felt content for the first time in… well, since he had thought he’d lost his Omega. To have not only Oliver and Joe, but also Grant and Rose – Slade didn’t think things could get any better.

 

He had his family back, and he would fight to keep them.


	14. Slade questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some happy, fluffy times with Oliver, Slade and the kids... and a 'conversation' with Moira...

For the first time in a _long_ time, Oliver drifted awake, his mind slowly swimming up towards awareness. There was no sense of urgency. No need to be immediately awake and aware – assessing for threats.

 

Because he was saturated in the scent of _family_ and _Alpha_. With his Alpha there, he knew he was safe. Knew he didn’t need to be constantly on guard, because Slade would guard him.

 

Slade would guard _them_.

 

Pressing his back firmly back against Slade’s, Oliver silently let the other man know he was awake. The returning press of Slade’s back against his assured him the other man had received the message.

 

It was strange, Oliver thought, but for the first time in so long, he actually felt like he was _home_. Which, no doubt, was due to the scent and heat of the Alpha pressed along his back. Somewhere along the way, Slade had become home to him, so much so that getting off the island and back to Starling City had never quite been enough.

 

For a moment, as he’d woken, Oliver had almost thought he was back on the island, pressed against Slade in the home they had made for themselves, happy in a way that Starling City had never made him.

 

To wake and find that he got both – Starling City _and_ his Alpha. Well, that was better than he had hoped for, for quite a long time.

 

“I can hear you thinking,” Slade grumbled, voice rough in that way that made Oliver’s insides squirm in delight. One large hand reached back, palming Oliver’s hip possessively. “Stop,” the Alpha ordered.

 

Smiling, Oliver turned his face so that his cheek was pressed against Slade’s back, breathing in deeply of the other man’s scent. As usual, the action succeeded in calming his thoughts, and soon he was drifting back towards sleep.

 

 

*

 

Moira paced. Back and forth. Back and forth.

 

What should she _do_?

 

Biting her lip, the woman turned to face one of the broken windows. Repairmen were at work in the other rooms – she wanted the house as secure as possible as soon as possible, but a creeping feeling of dread had been growing in her ever since the children had been kidnapped.

 

It seemed Malcolm wasn’t happy with her, wasn’t content to let things be as they had been. He wanted some kind of leverage over her – as though he didn’t already have enough!

 

Sinking down onto a chair with a sigh, Moira placed her face in her hands. She didn’t know what to do.

 

Her had family had to be protected, at all costs, that she knew.

 

She just didn’t know _how_ she could protect them.

 

Much as Oliver would say the island had changed him – and she shuddered to remember the violence she had witnessed from her son during the night – Oliver had no idea just what Malcolm was capable of.

 

Moira did.

 

And that scared her.

 

 

*

 

 

When next Oliver awoke, it was to giggles and the feel of something tickling across his face. Carefully, he slitted his eyes open enough to see both Joe and Rose sitting up, grinning at each other as Rose stroked her hair across his nose.

 

Scrunching his nose as he felt a sneeze begin to build, Oliver reached out, grabbing each of them as his fingers darted to their sides, finding the best places to tickle.

 

Rose burst into loud laughter, both kids kidding out at the tickling sensation. Joe’s foot caught Grant in the side, making the teen shoot upwards, gazing around them alertly, before relaxing and rolling his eyes as he saw Oliver tickling his siblings.

 

Of course, that precipitated the rest of the occupants of the bed slowly waking and sitting up.

 

“Dad!” Rose squealed, voice full of laughter as she tried to wriggle away from Oliver’s tickling fingers. “Dad! Help!”

 

Heaving a sigh, Slade sat up, taking things in with a single glance. Reaching out, he slid his hands beneath Oliver’s shirt, pressing against the skin of the Omega’s sides.

 

Freezing, Oliver shot a glance towards Slade. Eyes wide. Smirking, the Alpha began to move his fingers.

 

Gasping in laughter, Oliver released the kids as he tried to wriggle away from his Alpha, but Slade was expecting that. It was hardly the first time he had tickled his Omega, after all.

 

Pressing his weight down onto Oliver, Slade held him there, fingers digging into spasming flesh as Oliver’s laughter rang forth in the room.

 

Watching, Thea brought her hand up to her face, covering her mouth. She hadn’t heard Oliver laugh like that since before the island.

 

Wriggling beneath Slade, Oliver managed to get his leg around the other man, giving a shove that had them rolling.

 

For a moment, he felt a flash of exhilaration – then they toppled off the bed.

 

Landing on the floor with a thud, Slade landing firmly on top of him, Oliver grunted. Before letting out another laugh. Somehow, he thought, it seemed appropriate that they would topple off the bed.

 

Stretching out, he grinned up at Slade, eyes sparkling with mirth and a banked desire. Leaning up, Oliver pressed his lips against Slade’s, distracting the other man from his tickling.

 

“Urgh!” Tommy complained with humour, leaning over the edge of the bed to look at them.

 

“What?” Rose asked, before her head joined his in peering down at the two. She squealed brightly, turning to face her brothers. “Daddy and Ome are kissing!” she declared.

 

Grant made a face, but Joe simply smiled softly.

 

Slowly drawing back from his Omega, Slade grinned down at Oliver, before pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand to the younger man. Grasping Slade’s hand, Oliver allowed himself to be hauled up to his feet.

 

“Well,” said Slade, glancing around the roomful of now-awake people. “Who’s hungry?”

 

There was general agreement from the kids, already rushing towards the doorway.

 

“I know someone who’s _hungry_ ,” Thea muttered to Oliver as she passed him, making her brother roll his eyes in exasperation.

 

 

*

 

 

Much of the house had been cleaned and secured while they slept, but that did nothing to stop the alert vigilance both Slade and Oliver employed in protecting their family.

 

Watching the family eat, Moira slowly approached, still not entirely sure just how she was going to have the conversation she needed to have with them – or what the best course of action was.

 

Oliver glanced up, grinning at her. “Mom,” he said. There was a lightness in his face and voice that had been missing ever since the island. It brought a lump to her throat – and a wash of determination to her. She wouldn’t let Malcolm hurt her family. Not again.

 

Once they had eaten, Slade and Oliver took turns to explore the house, checking the security Moira had added, searching for anything out of place and generally assuring themselves that their family was safe.

 

Then, with Thea and Tommy playing with the kids, Slade gave Oliver a glance. Immediately knowing what his Alpha wanted, Oliver nodded, jerking his head to the side.

 

Standing, the two left the room, searching for Moira.

 

They needed to talk.

 

 

*

 

 

Moira glanced up as her son and his Alpha entered the room. Both men had serious looks on their faces – the kind of looks that let her know she wasn’t going to enjoy the next little while. Especially considering the fact that she was determined not to give in.

 

She _would_ protect her family!

 

 

*

 

 

“Mrs Queen,” Slade said, fixing her with a steady gaze. “I think we need to talk.”

 

She wanted to refuse. To say that there was nothing to talk about – but knew she couldn’t. Instead, giving a nod, Moira took a seat on one of the couches, gesturing for her son and his mate to do the same.

 

They sat together, she noted, Oliver leaning comfortably into the other man. It was not something she had ever expected to see – first because Ollie had been such a wild young man, then – because he’d come back from the island so damaged, no matter how he tried to hide it. She hadn’t thought he would ever let anyone in enough to truly relax against them.

 

“Nothing’s been found,” she said, deciding to start the conversation herself. To try and direct it where she wanted it to go. “I’m afraid there was no-one left alive for the police to question, so they were unable to get any information from any of the attackers. No-one has claimed any responsibility for the attack and nothing has been said about it,” she continued.

 

She watched both men closely as she spoke. Slade, she knew, was ex-military, so she didn’t expect much of a reaction from him. But her son, her baby boy – Oliver didn’t even so much as blink as she mentioned all their attackers being dead.

 

“They shouldn’t have attacked our family,” Slade replied with a growl, as though realising where her thoughts were headed. He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her. Beside him, Oliver sat calmly, letting his Alpha take the lead.

 

“What else?” Slade asked.

 

Moira started at the question, already sweating from the look he was giving her. As though he could see right through her, and wasn’t impressed by what he saw. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

 

“You do,” Slade returned calmly, as though they were talking about something simple, like the weather. “But you don’t want to share.”

 

Moira refrained from nodding.

 

Giving a sigh, Slade continued. “I know,” he said, “that you’ve been keeping secrets from your children. I know that you said you were afraid for _my_ children because of what happened to Oliver and his father – which suggests you don’t think the _Gambit_ going down was an accident. I know that Oliver spoke to you, asked you what was going on – and that you refused to answer.

 

“I know that you received a phone call, after the kids had been kidnapped – and that it had something to do with _why_ someone had taken them. But that you won’t say what they wanted.

 

“I know that Oliver said he was going to leave this house, find somewhere safer to live – because you won’t tell him the truth, and he can’t protect the kids properly without that knowledge.

 

“I also know,” Slade said, leaning forward forward, eyes pinning her in place, “that Oliver loves you. He would never dream of hurting you. I don’t have that problem. What I do have, is a family – one I thought I had lost, who has miraculously been returned to me – a family I will do _anything_ to protect. Do you understand me?”

 

Moira felt her mouth go dry, palms sweating at the calm threat contained within the other man’s words. Her eyes darted to Oliver, but he made no move, said nothing, simply sitting back calmly and watching as his Alpha worked to defend their family.

 

“I can’t tell you,” Moira said.

 

Slade scowled. “You won’t tell us,” he replied. “There’s a difference.”

 

“You think I don’t want to protect this family!” Moira snapped, surging to her feet. “All I want is to protect this family! Everything I do is to protect this family! I can’t tell you,” she snapped out, “because I’m trying to protect my children and grandchildren!”

 

Slade leant back, looking up at her. “The best way to protect them,” he said, “is to tell us what’s going on.”

 

Moira shook her head, turning away, not willing to continue looking into his piercing gaze. “You don’t understand,” she said.

 

“Then explain it to us,” Oliver said. “Please.”

 

“I need to protect you.”

 

Slade snorted. “Well, you’ve failed spectacularly at that, then, haven’t you?” he asked.

 

Moira spun back to face him, gaping at him in her fury. “I -” she began angrily.

 

“You let your husband and son get shipwrecked,” Slade told her calmly, rising to his own feet to face her. “You let your son go through hell for five years, because you couldn’t protect him. And then, once you get him back – you let _my children_ be kidnapped because you can’t protect them! If Oliver and I hadn’t been here, they would have been kidnapped once more or killed! It is obvious to me that _your_ protection is insufficient!”

 

“I am doing everything I can!” Moira screamed back at him, tears in her eyes. “Don’t you think I’m doing everything I can?!” she demanded.

 

“No,” Slade replied.

 

Gasping, Moira stepped backwards, shocked at his words.

 

“If you were,” Slade continued, “you would tell us what’s going on.” He tilted his head, considering her. “I don’t know exactly what is holding you back,” he said. “Whether you truly believe what you’re doing is the best way to protect your family, or whether there’s some secret you’re afraid will come out and make your children hate you if you tell the truth, or if it’s simple pride stilling your tongue.” He leant forward into her space. “But it is _not_ the best way to protect this family. And I _will_ do whatever it takes to protect mine!”

 

Moira slapped him.

 

Oliver surged to his feet beside his Alpha, staring in shock at his mother.

 

Shocked herself, Moira raised her hand to mouth. “I’m sorry -” she began.

 

“Tell. Us. The. Truth.” Slade hissed out at her.

 

Moira shook her head. “I can’t,” she said.

 

“Please, Mom,” Oliver interjected, “we can help. We all want the same thing – to protect this family. Let us help you do that. You don’t have to do this alone.”

 

“Oh Oliver,” she replied, reaching up to press her hand against his cheek. “If only I could believe that. No,” she said, straightening her spine. “I can’t. This is the only way to protect you. You don’t know what we’re up against.”

 

“Because you won’t tell us!” Oliver snapped, anger rushing through him at his mother’s stubbornness.

 

“Very well,” Slade said, taking a step back. He looked rather disappointed. “Where do you keep the rope around here?” he asked, turning to Oliver.

 

“Slade -” Oliver began, but the other man cut him off.

 

“I’ll do _whatever_ it take to protect my family!” he repeated. “You know that.”

 

“Yeah,” Oliver admitted with a nod. “I do.” Sighing, he gave Moira a sad look, before turning and leaving the room.

 

As soon as Oliver had exited, Slade turned back to the mother of his Omega, moving into her space and pushing her back against the wall.

 

“I want you to think, very carefully,” he said, “about what you’re doing. I meant what I said. I _will_ protect my family. That doesn’t mean I want to hurt the kid by hurting you. But if it means protecting our children, then that’s what I’ll do. There is nothing I wouldn’t do. No-one I wouldn’t kill, nothing I wouldn’t survive, in order to keep my family safe.”

 

The look Moira gave him in reply suggested that she would do the same.

 

Slade sighed. “I don’t enjoy this, you know,” he said. “It’s stupid for us to be fighting. There’s someone out there who wants to hurt our families – don’t you think we should be working together to stop them?”

 

“How?” Moira asked, voice cracking as she spoke. “You think if there was a way to do so I wouldn’t have done it already?” she demanded. “There’s no way to defeat him. No way to stop him! And now he’s getting desperate! Desperate enough to target the kids! And even if we could stop _him_ , there’s also that vigilante running around – I won’t take this family out of the reach of one madman only to put it in the cross-hairs of another!”

 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Oliver announced his presence back in the room. Slade shot him a look. Oliver frowned, giving his head a small shake. Slade scowled, head tilted to the side as he raised one eyebrow at his omega.

 

Oliver’s lips pursed.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Slade growled out. “There are enough secrets in this family! It’s time to start getting rid of them.”

 

With a sigh, Oliver deflated. Moira glanced between the two men in confusion. What were they talking about?

 

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Oliver muttered, moving further into the room, though appearing rather skittish, despite the rope he held in his hands, “there’s something I should probably tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to try and do NaNoWriMo this month - but instead of writing a novel, I'm aiming for 50k of fanfic written. So this chapter goes towards that.
> 
> Also, I am now (active) on Twitter - @tolieawake.   
> And, as usual, you can find me on Tumblr (also tolieawake).  
> Please do stop by and say 'hi'. ;)


	15. Telling Moira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver... explains some things...

Reaching out, Slade wrapped his hand easily around the back of Oliver’s neck, propelling him further into the room. Feeling the firm grip on his nape, Oliver relaxed slightly, tension draining from his frame in automatic response to the grip of his alpha.

 

“Tell me what?” Moira asked, gaze moving between the two men. She frowned, there was something there, in their body language. Something big. If only she knew what it was. “Oliver?”

 

Her son turned towards the alpha, seemingly drawing strength from the steady gaze of the other man, before turning back to her. He cleared his throat. “I… didn’t exactly come back from the island unchanged,” he said.

 

Moira snorted, despite how inelegant it was – there was simply no other way to properly express her feelings on the matter.

 

“Of course not,” she replied. “That much is obvious.” She sighed. “I don’t expect you to be the same, Oliver, I -”

 

“I changed more than you think,” he said, cutting over her.

 

Closing her mouth, Moira frowned at him. What could her son possibly mean?

 

“Here,” Slade said gruffly, pushing the omega back towards a seat, giving Moira a sharp look to indicate that she should take a seat, too.

 

Warily, the older woman sat on the edge of the couch facing the one Slade and her son were sitting on. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, and that made her rather concerned.

 

“Oliver?” she prompted.

 

Sighing, Oliver pressed back into the grip of his alpha’s hand on the back of his neck, the warm of Slade along his side. Reaching over, Slade gently took the rope from his omega’s hands.

 

“Tell her,” he said.

 

Taking a breath, Oliver glanced up at his mother, before dropping his gaze back down to his hands. “I wasn’t alone on the island,” he said.

 

Moira’s eyes went wide and her breath caught in her throat. She’d suspected – especially after she’d seen some of his scars. Some of them – well, they didn’t look like the kind of scars you got falling over in the jungle. They were more – deliberate.

 

But to have it confirmed…

 

She leant forward. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

 

But Oliver shook his head, speaking over her, as though now that he was talking he had to get it out – had to continue before he lost his nerve.

 

“I wasn’t alone,” he said. “And that meant I had to learn how to fight if I was going to survive.”

 

Moira’s hand raised up to her mouth, covering it. Her heart beat fast in her chest. Oliver could hear it, the way it pounded desperately, could smell the scent of apprehension wafting from her.

 

“I’m not the boy who was shipwrecked,” he said, “but I’m also not the man you think I am.” He glanced down, swallowing. “I changed. A lot. Because I had to.” His gaze focused on Slade’s hand on his arm – grounding him. “You saw me kill someone,” he said, remembering all too clearly his mother’s shocked and horrified gaze as she saw him wrench his knife from the intruder’s neck, letting the man fall to the ground dead.

 

Moira shifted closer, reaching out for him. “Oh, Oliver,” she said, “I know you had no choice -”

 

“It wasn’t the first time.”

 

She stilled. What was he telling her? What had happened to her baby boy?

 

“And I don’t think it’ll be the last,” Oliver said. Raising his eyes, he stared at her, hoping to somehow convey the importance of what he was going to say to her. “Did they tell you what happened to the men when I went feral?” he asked.

 

Moira nodded, a slow nod,a s though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to admit to it. “Yes,” she said.

 

Oliver nodded. “I killed them,” he said.

 

“Oliver – you were feral. It was a natural reaction you had no control over, it -”

 

“I would have done the same even if I wasn’t feral,” he said.

 

She gaped at him.

 

“I would have killed them happily,” Oliver told her. “They threatened my family. My kids. I wouldn’t hesitate. Not for a moment.”

 

“I know you feel like -”

 

“Do you know how many people I killed on the island?”

 

Moira fell silent once more, watching him. Waiting. It was obvious there was something her son was trying to tell her, trying to get out. She would wait for him to say it. Though she doubted it was as terrible as he seemed to think.

 

No, not terrible, she realised, as she watched her boy turn his hand over, lacing his fingers through the calloused ones of his alpha, but something he thought would change things. Would be a big deal. To her.

 

“The first time was an accident,” Oliver admitted, “but it didn’t stop there. I wasn’t alone on the island, and if I wanted to live – I needed to learn how to kill. Because no-one there would hesitate to kill me.” He glanced up at Slade. “Slade was good at teaching me,” he said.

 

The alpha let out a soft grunt, and Oliver rolled his eyes at him.

 

“How to kill,” he said, “but also how to use all my abilities the best that I can.” Focusing, he listened to his mother’s heartbeat, drew in her scent. “You’re worried,” he said, “concerned. Apprehensive. And slightly scared.”

 

Moira shook her head. “Those aren’t hard to guess,” she said.

 

“I can smell them,” Oliver told her. “I’m omega, but not some soft city omega any more. You know how I found the kids when they were kidnapped?”

 

“You went feral -”

 

“I tracked them.”

 

She drew in a sharp breath. Tracking was a specialised skill that few ever mastered. “Oliver -”

 

“I tracked them,” he repeated, “just like Slade taught me. And then I killed their kidnappers, just like I’d learnt.” He eyes met hers, hard and serious. “I need you to stop thinking of me as your son,” he said, “as someone you need to protect. Right now, I’m pretty sure it should be the other way around.”

 

Beside him on the couch, Slade sighed. “You’re beating around the bush, kid,” he muttered.

 

Oliver shot him a look, hunching down at bit.

 

Slade’s large hand squeezed the back of his neck. “I know you don’t want to,” he said, “but if we want her to trust us, we need to trust her. It’ll help.”

 

Oliver grimaced, but nodded. He turned back to his mother. “Slade wasn’t the only one on the island who helped me,” he said. “There was a man, Yao Fei. He… he was an archer.” Reaching up, Oliver shifted his shirt, pulling it to the side in order to show her his first scar from the island. “This is where he shot me.”

 

Moira opened her mouth, but Oliver continued speaking, hurrying to get it all out.

 

“He shot me,” he said, “and then he took me to his cave and healed me and started to teach me how to survive.” He gave a slight grin. “First thing I ever killed was a bird - ‘cos he wouldn’t feed me, made me kill it so I could cook it and eat it.”

 

Moira stared at him in horror. She wanted to get close, to wrap her boy up in her arms and hold him tight. Tears pricked at her eyes at the thought of what he had been through, what she had been unable to protect him from. But her baby boy was curled into the alpha beside him, and she doubted her touch would be welcomed. Not right then.

 

“Yao Fei taught me many things,” Oliver continued, “he taught me how to catch and kill my food, how to cook it, what plants were okay to eat and which ones would kill me. He taught me how to move soundlessly through the jungle and stay out of the way of the patrols.” He gave a slight grin. “He even tried to teach me how to shoot his bow.”

 

“Tried?” Moira asked.

 

Oliver shrugged. “I was too weak,” he admitted. “A soft, city boy.”

 

Slade’s snort seemed to agree with him.

 

“But Yao Fei had a daughter,” he said. “That the mercenaries tried to use to get him to do what they wanted.” He eyes went distant, hand gripping tight to Slade’s. “We managed to rescue her from the mercenaries,” he said. “And she continued to teach me.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how many bowls of water she made me slap.” Moira frowned, confused for his words, but waited patiently.

 

“And I learnt how to shoot,” Oliver admitted. “Until I could shoot down animals for food. And until I could shoot down those who wanted to harm us.”

 

Moira drew in a sharp breath. She had a feeling she knew where her son was going with this, but she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

 

“Dad didn’t die when the Gambit went down,” Oliver said. “He was in the life-raft with me, for a bit, anyway.”

 

The sound that left Moira’s throat could be nothing other than a sob.

 

“He told me, he told me he’d failed this city,” Oliver said, looking away over his mother’s shoulder. He knew Slade would keep watching her, would watch for any tells from the woman as Oliver told his tale. But he didn’t think he could look her in the eyes as he said the next bit. As he admitted it.

 

“He asked me to right his wrongs,” Oliver continued. “I didn’t understand what he meant. And then, then he shot himself – in order to save me. Said there wasn’t enough water.” He paused, voice strangling itself in his throat for a moment. Drew a deep breath. Continued.

 

“He had a book on him, I don’t know why, but I didn’t bury it with him – even though it appeared to be blank. Later I – I found out it was full of names.” He dared at glance at his mother. Her eyes were wide, hands over her mouth, head shaking in silent denial.

 

“When I came back here,” Oliver said, “I knew I needed to fulfil Dad’s last wish. I needed to right his wrongs. And when I started looking into it, I saw that those wrongs were all linked to the book. To the names in the book. It’s a book of names of those who have harmed this city.

 

“And I knew I had to do something to stop them. To make things right. So I – I decided to go after them. But I couldn’t go after them as I was. Not only would it get tricky with the law – but if anyone knew who I was, they would go after those I cared about in order to try and stop me, and I couldn’t have that.

 

“So I hid myself. The hood was Yao Fei’s – before he was killed. And after him Shado’s, before she was killed. I wear it to honour them. And I wield my bow to honour them. -”

 

“Also because it’s his best weapon,” Slade cut him, no doubt he had thought Oliver was getting too sappy.

 

Moira just continued to stare at them, shaking her head silently.

 

Oliver leant forward, reaching out to grab her hands. “Mom,” he said, gently squeezing her fingers. “I’m ‘the hood’.”

 

“No,” Moira whispered. Her face was pale, and the acrid scent of fear filled the air. “No,” she repeated, “you can’t be.”

 

“I am,” Oliver replied. “So you don’t need to fear the Hood, because I would never hurt my family.”

 

She continued to shake her head. “The Hood was still here while you were in Australia,” she said, voice desperate, grasping at anything she could to disprove what she didn’t want to be true.

 

Oliver shrugged. “I have… friends,” he said. “And we thought it was a good idea in order to throw suspicion off me.”

 

“You can’t,” Moira repeated, “you can’t – he’ll kill you. He’s mad. He’s so mad at the Hood. Oh my precious boy,” she said, pulling him towards her as tears leaked out of her eyes. “He’ll kill you!”

 

“I can look after myself,” Oliver said, slipping to his knees on the floor before her, holding her hands gently. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m strong now, and I have Slade to back me up. I’ll be fine.”

 

She stared at him with wide eyes. “You don’t know,” she said, “you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t know how far he’ll go. He...” her voice choked and she glanced away, before turning back to him. “You need to stop, Oliver,” she said, voice parental-firm. “You need to stop going out and targeting people. He knows you’re targeting those involved, and he wants you dead. You have to stop.”

 

“I’m not going to stop,” Oliver replied. “I have no intention of letting anyone – no matter who – destroy this city or threaten my family.” His words were fierce, full of conviction. “I _will_ stop him.” He drew a deep breath. “Is ‘he’ the one who had the kids kidnapped?”

 

“Yes,” Moira replied, hands tightening on his. “And when that didn’t work, he sent an assault force here – whatever he does next, it’s going to be even worse.”

 

“Then we need to be ready,” Slade said, gravelly voice cutting into their conversation. He fixed his omega’s mother with a stern gaze. “Which means you need to tell us what you know.”

 

Immediately, automatically, she shook her head. 

 

“Mom,” Oliver said, drawing her attention back to him. “Just moments ago, you were worried about what the vigilante could do to this family. But you don’t need to worry about that – this vigilante is protecting this family. But I can that a lot better the more information I have.”

 

“I -”

 

“Mrs Queen,” Slade said, “it’s time to make a choice.” Her pale face turned towards him. “You can either choose to share with us, to let us help you protect this family, or you can refuse – which makes you a threat to our family, and therefore our enemy. 

 

“You choose the second, and you’ll lose this family, because neither my omega or I have any intention of staying somewhere we’re put in danger by a lack of intel. I know Oliver’s your son, and goodness knows when I first met him he could barely manage to get through a day without almost dying a few times – but he’s come a long way since then.

 

“I’m proud to have him as my omega, to have him at my back, protecting me. You really want to protect this family? You’ll tell us what’s going on.”

 

Moira’s eyes moved between indecision flickering in them. Then she drew a deep breath, and her courage, and opened her mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I was just going to have Joe in this - as he's the only one mentioned in the TV show, but then I couldn't resist the idea of a big, happy family, and I read a few amazing fics with Grant and Rose in them too. So this is my disclaimer to say: inspired by the couple of brief mentions of Joe in Arrow, and by any Slade/Oliver fics that reference Grant and Rose.
> 
> (I read a number of fics recently, while hopped up on pain meds, and have been trying to go back and find them all and leave reviews now that I can actually think clearly again. If anyone has favourites to send my way, I am more than open to that). 
> 
> I've done some research into Grant and Rose, but am not sure yet how much of that will make it into this fic. We'll see.


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